Apotheosis - Or the Rule of Depravity
by Ageofmyths
Summary: A soul is rumoured to be eternal, even Divine. For Harry Potter, desperation and hope are his two motivators, and a struggle lands half of him in a world so unlike his own; his counterpart gets sent to a world where the Potters are still alive in 1988. This is Harry Potter in Azeroth; sequel will deal with his counterpart. Harry/Sylvanas likely. Holy/dark!Harry. Rating raised.
1. Freedom and Misery

**A/N:**

**Hey everyone! I'm back, momentarily! (I'll return in earnest by the first of June).**

**The idea for this story sprang after I had finished the sixth chapter of Godly Dissension - safe to say, a long while back. **

**I recently looked at the Warcraft/HP compilations and decided to add my own piece to it. Whether it enriches it or makes it poorer is your decision.**

This story is the first of a two part crossover – this depicts the events in the Warcraft world, and the sequel will tell the events of the Potter world. The first chapter will be the root of both stories. Please, read until the very end, you'll find out why.

**Right – this chapter serves more as a **_**light-hearted**_** introduction. Forgive the parody aspect some parts of it may present.**

**NONE of the pairings here will continue on to the real story. So don't get your knickers in a twist. **I definitely will not be favouring our young hero. Actually, he'll have a nice shock at the very end of the chapter.

Please, let me know if you have any additional concerns.

**The Warcraft universe is a massive sandbox, every nook and cranny of it designed to perfection, and I intend to make full use of this fact.**

* * *

**Comments: This story is best read in a half width page format, with every other setting at default (unless you have preferences set for those).**

**Disclaimer: The recognizable part of the plot in this story is owned by its respective groups and their affiliations, and the character themselves likewise.**

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**.oOo.**

**Part I – Apotheosis**

_There is a house in New Orleans_

_They call the Rising Sun_

_And it's been the ruin_

_Of many a poor boy_

_And god, I know, I'm one._

- Snippet-verse from _House of the Rising Sun_, American folk song, first recorded by The Animals

**Autumn's Eve**

Spinner's End was a very happy community of people, all brought together in celebration of Michaelmas, for the first time in many years; all residents of Spinner's End were gathered around central sapling in the square. Hiding a very wet terrace of unnatural lilies and geraniums under its wild decorations, the sapling seemed to be the focus of the party. As the party drew to an end, no one noticed a lone, red-haired figure snap the highest branch and tuck it in a bag fitted for such purpose.

No one noticed the flickering light from the second floor bedroom of the run-down house at the end of the street, either.

When the red haired figure reached the house, she shimmered through and seemed to disappear into it. When she reached the bedroom with the bag in her hand, she took off her fur-tailed coat and purred adoringly at the other person in the room.

Acknowledging her with a glance, he gave her a tense searching look, then deciding to forgo the usual ritualistic greeting, snapped at her.

"Well, do you have it?" The undertone of anger was not subtle enough, but it was confusing – she had not failed before, nor had she failed now. She attributed it to the constant tension of their situation and silently promised to take care of him and nurse him into better moods after the ritual.

At the acquiescing nod from the red head the young man visibly relaxed and gestured at her to slip it into the circle drawn on the floor in front of them. After a nervous first step, the red head decided walking was not worth messing up the volatile circle and glided over to it before dropping the twig in. She gave a grim smile as she watched it catch fire all on its own – a grey, smoky, long-lasting and slow-burning fire.

When she turned around however, her inexperience coupled with the hasty possession of the new body caused her to inadvertently hit a small sand-timer from the nearby tabletop and smash it in the very middle of the circle. Normally, the sand timer would have had an unbreakable charm on it, but this one needed to be broken, and _at the right time_, for the ritual. This one was slightly off, and it shattered into a thousand pieces, the temporal sands spreading all over the area.

Her shriek warned the boy with her of her failure and he whipped around, giving an animalistic growl at the sight before him.

All that hard work, all that meticulous preparation – all for naught. The sands were too fine to be collected with a simple spell – no guarantee that dust wouldn't mix with it. The time was set, with no way of fixing it.

The seventeen year old boy sighed loudly before deciding to go on with the ritual. This was the only way he'd be able to fix his own mistakes. After all, he should have realized that spell modification was dangerous matter not to be meddled with; instead, he had ended up practically decimating the wizarding world. Voldemort had not been merciful and he seemed to have endless supply of death eaters, no matter how many Harry tore through.

"Right, Ginny." After a short glance at her pale face, Harry continued. "Because of that, we can't go together. I'll have to fix this all on my own, because Ron'd crucify my dead spirit if something happened to you. Give the girls my love, would you? Especially Bellatrix – tell her no hard feelings – even if she's been dead a couple months, I still think she's got a soft spot for me."

The corpse that Ginny was possessing simply gaped at him, dumbstruck, before Harry turned his wand on her and fired a high-grade soul banisher at her. The last thing Harry saw before the ritual activated was the horrible, betrayed look that Ginny sent him, and he shuddered to think what could have happened if he hadn't kicked her back.

He didn't know when he would get up, or indeed, _when_ he would get up, but he'd be a fool if he let the past happen as it already had.

Harry woke up a couple years in the past and decided to name that waking moment, in a very original manner, 'the jump'.

* * *

**.oOo.**

**Chapter I**

**Freedom and Misery**

_Two months after waking up from the jump_

Harry woke up – at dawn – with a blinding headache gnawing at his temples – and if he had been his old tense self, he would have smashed something. Definitely not the kind of wake up he had been expecting, not after a nice night's rest following from the evening's relaxing massage. There was a certain stench in the air he wasn't able to identify – not the kind that stemmed from any well known after-party disasters, no – but it wasn't helping all the same. Getting up from the bed he began recollecting his thoughts, promptly jumping up in shock as he finished.

_No, I need to clear my head, and this room... And this room needs proper scourgifying._

Harry took a look around and found what scared him. He wondered what the red, viscous goo-like substance all over the floor was; at a first glance, he would have easily guessed ketchup. After a closer look, though, he scrambled back in fright from the concoction. He'd seen it before, and the Lethargia – mind-numbing potion used in interrogations – was deadly in the right hands. Which meant that someone – and he had a disquieting notion it was Fleur – had tried to slip a vial of it down his throat.

_So, Crouch Junior is already using someone as a proxy, hmm? I'll have to watch my back. I don't remember this happening to me._

After that, Harry began to meticulously clean his room, or rather, the Room of Requirement, which had hosted a rather large party the previous evening. In fact, it was only thanks to Fleur's ingenuity that Harry had managed to have his relaxing evening. After all, you can't really expect a house party to happen in the common room – _McGonagall would have our heads!_ – and the Room of Requirement fit their needs perfectly: separate rooms on demand for maximum effective privacy.

Harry turned and looked around for the Beauxbatons champion everywhere in the different rooms that popped up within the Room of Requirement. His search yielded nothing of her current location, which aroused his suspicions once more – everyone else from the party was still inside, currently asleep. Most conspicuously absent from the sleeping bodies was one Hermione Granger _and _the one he had slept with – to the best of his knowledge – Fleur Delacour.

_I should have known it was too good to be true. There is no way Fleur would have expressed any interest with me, not with me in this current fourteen year-old body, not with someone she knows so little about._

So, Harry established that Hermione had seen his reactions to Fleur, and had decided to seduce him with polyjuice.

The question that remained to be answered, now, was whether Hermione was the proxy that 'Moody' was using – and if so, to check whether she was under the imperius.

_If not... well then, either I lost a good friend to the Dark Lord, or I have an unknown threat to take care of. Fan-fucking-tastic! _

If it was Hermione though ... Of course, he'd try and get her back – there was no way he had gone through all that he did, battled and lost everyone that he had had, only to be betrayed and beaten now. No, if Hermione was simply a little more attracted to him than she let on and wanted to know him 'better', then no harm was done, but it would mean that someone else was trying to open up his deepest secrets.

Harry had prepared for the eventuality of losing _to _Voldemort; he just hadn't prepared for the eventuality of losing _everyone_ to Voldemort _before_ him. That was the main reason why he had asked Hermione to mess with the massive Time-Turner they had found in the Department of Mysteries, next to the Veil Room.

_Too bad she died before she could join me in this time._

Harry surprised himself with the clear lack of emotion he showed; and indeed, he wasn't sure he could feel anything anymore about his life prior to the Time Jump. It was as if the event had created a disjunction between him and his previous reality – not that this was a drastically different one, either.

From what he had established, this was the same reality that he grown up in, with the notable exception of the fact that Harry had now irrevocably changed the timeline by popping into this world just a couple of weeks before the First Task.

The Gryffindors had held back the party until he had left Madam Pomfrey's, and he had rewarded them with free access to booze and Hogsmeade via a secret tunnel he had uncovered from Dumbledore. He had wanted to tell them about the Room of Requirement himself, but somehow the Terrible Twins had already known about them, a fact that surprised him considerably and had him on his guard.

**.oOo.**

Minerva McGonagall's announcement was met with a fair amount of apprehension – after all, how many of them knew how to dance 'properly'?

More importantly, how many of them had the courage and maturity to ask, both for help and for a date?

Not very many, that's for sure. The boys seemed especially jittery, even to themselves.

Thankfully, though, the professor seemed to have everything under control. That didn't mean Harry wasn't going to help his friends – a shimmering veil seemed to form over the whole room and dropped just a second before anyone could notice it and trace it back to him.

_Professor McGonagall definitely needs her glasses,_ Harry snickered.

"Mr. Weasley, thank you for volunteering. Kindly stand up and step up to me."

The poor boy's stutters and mumbles forced everyone to choke back their laughter at his predicament. Nevertheless, Ronald Bilius Weasley showed that he deserved to be in Gryffindor by stomping the last few steps (after having heard his year mates' obvious choking sounds) and grabbing McGonagall's waist and hand.

The latter was quite flustered at the dominant attitude Weasley was showing.

"Mister Weasley! Have you waltzed before?" The slight astonishment present in the question was not missed by anyone – least of all the lazy, lanky Gryffindor himself.

The red head in question could only blush and nod his head slightly. The ensuing snickers related to the already established fact only made his face turn redder, and Harry felt pity for his friend's embarrassing situation. Inwardly, Harry mused about his emotions – they had all returned to manageable levels, and he was no longer prone to violent outbursts.

Getting up and crossing the floor to the girls' side, Harry did an exaggerated bow in front of a non-descript and worthless airhead... Lavender Brown.

"My lady, may I have this dance?" The positively impish smirk on his face gave away nothing of his prior thoughts.

Lavender's face, visibly flushed from the very obvious bow directed to her, turned a very tomato-red and quickly recovered by genuflecting in turn.

"Yes of course, milord." The giggles she let out at the end didn't serve to diminish the atmosphere around them in any way, but it did have one good effect – all of the boys stood up and began crossing the floor (to get to the other side).

The poor professor could only gape at them as they all took partners and headed onto the floor and began getting into the same positions as Weasley and herself. She cleared her throat, and the gramophone started playing at a slightly quicker pace. Accordingly, everyone stepped up their game.

"Oh my, Neville... I didn't know you could dance so well!" Hermione quite literally gushed at him.

Harry himself raised an eyebrow, though for a different reason – Hermione must have been hiding when Harry had walked up to them, or else he would have asked her straight away.

"T-to be honest, I, I didn't know either!" Hermione simply laughed off the startled and stammeringbloke who didn't know what he seemed to be saying.

Professor McGonagall just watched slack-jawed as everyone in the ballroom executed a perfectly synchronized choreographed waltz – this had to be impossible – after all, hadn't half of them as good as admitted they didn't know how to dance properly? There was either something fishy going on, or the twins were at it again. Nevertheless, she let the _fun_ go on. Besides, she was enjoying herself, too.

"There's no need to move your hand up, Mister Weasley. Where it was before is just fine", she continued curtly, moving his hand back down to her hips.

A couple of minutes later, a fully embarrassed specimen of the Weasley family finally got to switch dance partners, and he managed to get close to Harry and Parvati.

Getting close enough wasn't that difficult, as the tempo of the dance ensured there was enough movement going around.

"Harry, mate, did you have anything to do with this? I mean... I know you questioned all of us couple nights ago if we could dance or not..."

Just as Harry was about to answer, though, he got cut off.

"Actually, you know what? I don't care if you did. I'm extremely grateful if you did, mate; stopped me from looking like a fool, and now we can finally get every girl in the year to admit that our house probably has the most _noblemen_ than any other!"

Seamus Finnegan twirled a very red Eloise Midgen close enough so he could whisper his two Knuts to the conversation, too.

"Aye, mate. I heard Lisa Turpin and Su Li from the Claws saying they wouldn't mind any of us asking them!"

Another twirl later, he disappeared and Dean Thomas continued.

"Apparently, they'd thought only the Slytherins would've been educated in the proper etiquette. Imagine that!" He gave a small laugh and turned to his lovely chocolate dance partner.

Unfortunately for them, their current source of amusement ended too quickly – Professor McGonagall had called them to sit back down; time was up. The bell signalling the end of the lesson rang reluctantly, almost as if the school realised how much fun her students were having.

"Well, it seems all of you were more than adequately well instructed in this particular, ah, art. Though I suppose this lesson doesn't seem to have been completely unnecessary." She continued, giving a pointed look at Padma Patil and Terry Boot, who seemed intent on drawing each other's tonsil out.

Said offenders quickly backed away from each other, but not before giving each other looks that promised later action.

McGonagall continued with what she was saying, and by the end, the bell rung again, signalling the start of lunch.

Both fourth year sections of the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables filled up five minutes after the start of lunch, and the feast began with gusto. Everyone noticed the beatific smiles on the girls' faces, and the confident, bordering on arrogant ones on the boys, but no one questioned it. As McGonagall discussed the recent happenings with the rest of the teachers, however, she noted that the Boy-who-lived was staring at her with gleeful smirk on his face, very reminiscent of another, similar looking boy and his friends, not so long ago.

**.oOo.**

Rita Skeeter woke up feeling quite drowsy. She shook her head, as if to rid herself of sleep's debilitating hold on her, and set for the kitchen to take some of the dizziness potion she kept for medical purposes.

After her head had cleared, she tried to recall what had happened the night previously.

She looked at the date; thankfully, it was the twenty-fourth of December, meaning that she hadn't slept through a whole day, and that she would still be able to cover the Yule Ball taking place at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She noticed belatedly that she had apparently spent the night naked, and that for some reason her clothes were strewn all over the floor – near the entrance hallway. As slightly disturbing as it was, it did nothing to prepare her for the shock of her life.

"Oh hello Rita, I see you're up!" Rita jumped in fright and turned her head to face the bathroom she hadn't noticed had been locked.

Standing in front of her, in all his teenage glory, was one Harry James Potter. She took a moment to savour the sight in front of her before recoiling once more.

"What in Merlin's name?" Rita was starting to get extremely flustered – Harry hadn't tied his bathrobe in the front yet.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you wouldn't mind me using your bath – it was extremely relaxing. I would have woken you up, but you looked so pretty _while you slept_."

Rita decided to ignore the veiled insult and the slightly mocking tone that Potter – _Merlin, I just slept with an underage Harry Potter_ – had used with her, and opened her mouth a couple times before closing it just as quickly. She was trying really hard to figure out what to do and say so that none of this would be leaked to _anyone_.

"Rita? You didn't mind, did you?"

Rita squeaked out a no before turning away and placing her head in her hands. If this got out, the Daily Prophet would certainly _not_ take her side over his – after all, this was the wizarding world's saviour. Most likely, she'd be discredited and all of her articles would come under question.

Noticing she was about to have a full nervous breakdown, Harry decided it was time to start playing all his cards right.

"Rita, my sweet, look at me."

If she was bothered by his familiarity, he couldn't tell. She did, however, look up to meet his eyes with her own, while her lips quivered as he drew close to her.

Harry sighed and ran one hand through her silky blond tresses. He rubbed his other hand up and down her arm trying to comfort her. He felt a cool, dry scaly ridge, and looked down to see a narrow golden band encircling her arm. He started to trace it, and realized she was (debatably) unwittingly wearing the jewellery he had gotten her the previous evening, in full show of tabloids.

"H-Harry?" Her stutter brought him out of his reverie, and he looked to her with reassuring glance, even though his insides revolted at doing this to _her_, of all people. If it had been him three years ago, he would have kept his glare of heated and passionate hate for the woman who nearly ruined his life. She couldn't keep his glance, and looked away after a bare few seconds.

"What are you afraid of, love?" Harry looked at her, trying to coax her into staring only at his eyes.

Rita for her part couldn't believe _this_ was the Harry Potter she had interviewed not so long ago. There was _no_ way the _little boy who cried at the loss of his parents_ could be this suave, or enthralling.

"Did you think I was going to tell anyone, darling?" Harry's words caused her face to take on a scared expression once more. She meekly nodded her head at him.

Harry gave a short, mellow laugh. "Now why would I ever do that to you, my dear?"

Rita could only look at the boy she'd spent the night with open-mouthed.

"You mean you won't tell anyone?" Her tone was positively incredulous.

"No, of course I won't." Harry replied with a merry twinkle in his eyes that Rita did not notice was fake.

Just as she was about to say something, though, Harry cut her off again.

"Though, we will need to have an, ah, _agreement_, about the matter."

_Shit! No wonder he said he wouldn't tell! He's probably going to force me to own up about the articles I've written about him! I knew this was too good to be true._

"Um, yes, of course! I'll ask for a full pardon in the next Prophet edition..." Harry immediately brought his right hand to cup her face and drew her to him.

"Now, now, Rita, why ever would you want to do that? Surely that would ruin your credibility for future articles?" By the end of that, Rita was gaping. _What does he want? Oh Merlin... does he want more nights with me?_ Rita admitted to herself that she was slightly flattered by the thought, but the fact remained that he was still underage.

Harry, of course, through passive legilimency knew exactly what she was thinking, and let out a soft chuckle that interrupted her thought experiment. She realized that he must have noticed her expression, and prepared herself for the speech she was about to give.

"Harry, as flattered as I am about –"

"Don't worry, Rita. No, it's not what you think," Harry paused as she let out an almost unnoticeable relieved sigh before he continued, "No, what I would like for you to do is to swear just a simple magical oath, that's all."

Rita's blood froze at these words. She couldn't see a way out of this, though... Perhaps he'd let her off easy. After all, if he was noble enough to not want to destroy her career, and not take advantage of her ... situation, then he'd probably not do anything too brash, _right?_

She made her decision and steeled her resolve.

"I accept."

**.oOo.**

"See, Rita? I can feel this is going to be the start of a marvellous new relationship!"

Rita cringed a bit, but was elated. He had indeed let her off easy – after all, not publishing anything remotely derogatory about him was perfectly fine with her! She'd only done it because he was easy picking (at the time).

Just as Harry turned to leave, however, a horrible thought crossed her mind.

"Harry, wait!" Harry paused and turned at the sudden look of horror on her face.

"Yes, Rita?"

"I – I wasn't on the potion..."

Harry smirked internally before asking innocently, "What potion?"

The resulting flustered Rita was more than worth being held behind.

"You know... the potion." She said, pointing to her lower-belly.

"Oh! You mean _that_ potion. Call it what it is, love. The _contraceptive_ potion." Harry finished with a condescending and slightly derogatory tone before turning around without another word, with the intention to leave.

"Harry, wait! What if I get pregnant? With yours, I mean." Rita was extremely embarrassed by this – after all, Harry Potter, while (questionably) desirable, was nowhere near ready to be a father, and she _certainly_ didn't want an unexpected little one on the way. His answer, though, made her question his sanity and education.

"Why would you be pregnant with my child, Rita? It's almost as if you seem to be under the impression that you and I did something together."

"What the hell do you mean? _We_ _had unprotected sex!_"

At this point, it became too much for Harry, who burst out with laughter. After he calmed down, though, he replied with a clinical ease and cold tone that got her shivering.

"No, Rita. You _thought_ we had sex. I never did anything with you. Not like I'd lower myself to the likes of _you_."

It hurt Harry to say that and it went completely against his normal, benevolent self, but he couldn't forget the hell that this woman put him through, before his time jump. He figured she deserved a bit of grounding before she got out of hand.

A slightly teary-faced Rita floundered about and stood up. "But – But you said that I looked – and the magical oath –" Harry watched as all of a sudden comprehension dawned on her and she started crying out loud.

"Yes, _my sweet,_" Harry continued with a mocking sneer, "this was all about the oath. I used you just fine. But now you're in my pocket, you little witch, and you better remember where and how deep my hands can go."

Trembling, Rita fell back in her chair, hard, and began sobbing in earnest as the youngest Triwizard champion left her apartment.

It was only after a long crying session that she realized he had apparated away from her doorstep and began to rationalize her actions. There was no way she had become such a mess without some form of strong compulsion charm on her.

**.oOo.**

On the morning of the Ball, the boys who were still at school and not studying ran out the doors of Hogwarts onto the surrounding snow-blanketed grounds. After all, what better way to celebrate Christmas day – the Yuletide festival – than a massive snowball fight blown out of proportions?

Some of the teachers joined in the fun, as well. Professors Sinistra and Vector had a babble of boys who constantly tried to get them in hopes of getting their dresses wet, but a quick overpowered _incendio_ fixed that particular problem for them. Since it was in the spirit of Yuletide, and the Ball was to be held later on, no one was given any proper telling off or proper punishment.

Harry was glad that for the first year ever, Ronald Weasley had been cleaning up after himself and got his act together. Said boy had realized (with some judicious prodding at the right times by a certain boy-who-lived) that he could amount to a lot if he picked up his game.

As such, he was now taking Parvati Patil to the Ball.

Harry had been slightly amazed that Ron had the courage to do it as early as he did, _before_ many of the other good looking girls themselves had been asked to the ball themselves – in fact, Harry wondered if Ron had known that Lavender hadn't been asked when he'd chosen Parvati.

Since Ron didn't have a problem with it, though, Harry went with her.

Hermione had surprised them all (except for Harry, of course) by turning up at the side of Victor Krum. She looked brilliantly radiant, and was the centre of attraction for quite a bit of time before the opening dance.

"I've still only got eyes for you, Lav." Harry whispered softly to her ear.

The blush covering her face almost matched the one currently on Hermione's, now that she had everyone's attention on her.

The excitement continued for a little while before the Headmaster stepped up from behind the oaken table and muttered a quick _sonorus. _

"Ladies and Gentlemen, would you please welcome the Triwizard Champions and their dates for the opening dance!"

The thunderous applause that ensued brooked no argument from any of them as they stepped up to their respective positions. Deciding to show off a bit (as the dance required a switch up of partners halfway through), Harry positioned himself at the right of Fleur, so that the _leetle_ boy would be able to surprise the half-blood Veela with his _natural_ charm.

"...And a one, two, three, four..."

The orchestra started playing just as all four males initiated the dance.

Roger Davies, Fleur's partner for the evening, seemed completely entranced by her allure, and was doing little better than following her moves all the time, barely keeping up. Harry laughed when he noticed, but none of the other guys seemed to having trouble in that respect.

The initially slow tempo of the dance, which increased incrementally till a certain level, now had them all going around and the girls twirling in circles at quite an impressive speed that made for an even more attractive display. Quite a few of the women attending the dance wished they were hanging around the arm of one the three male Champions.

Most of the men were visibly drooling at the combined sights of Fleur, Hermione and Lavender, the latter who had a slight allure charm placed on her by Harry, simply to incite envy at the school. He deemed it a nice prank for the evening.

After all, his date had to have her own shine, didn't she?

Halfway through the dance they switched partners and Harry conveniently ended up with Fleur.

The latter had gotten quite used to all men becoming drooling slobs at a mere gaze from her, and that in turn forced her to lead the dance with Roger. She wasn't expecting much from the _'leetle boy'-_who-lived. She was in for a real surprise when he quickly began taking dominance and showing her the proper courtesies.

When they finished, and the Weird Sisters started up, Harry was forced to return to his own date. However, if the twinkle in Fleur's eyes were any indication, she wasn't averse to seconds.

**.oOo.**

Similarly, if the snog at the end of the evening was any indication, Lavender thoroughly enjoyed herself.

She claimed she needed to thank him adequately – he only replied that she did it already by gracing him with her presence.

Really – he didn't want to be snogging _her_ senseless.

But hey, he was still a guy. A hormonal teenager, at that. Besides, it wouldn't be gentlemanly to refuse an advance from such a persistent lady.

When they left the Ballroom to head up to the common room, Harry didn't do anything.

When they went long into the night in the common room, Harry still didn't do anything.

When Lavender was about to pull him out of there in favour of the prefects' bathroom, though, Harry decided that things had gone far enough.

With a bit of passive legilimency he saw that Lavender was slightly nervous and excited – and also, more importantly to him – she hadn't done this with anyone else before. Oddly touched by the fact that Lavender would actually be happy to have him as a proper boyfriend (because there was no way she would be doing this if she didn't get a confession from Harry about liking her a lot), Harry decided the easiest way to deal with it would be to let her think before wanting to do anything forward when heavily dosed with alcohol.

A quick _somnus_ and a mild memory modifier charm (which would cause her to remember nothing had happened and that she'd simply gone to sleep after they'd done snogging – essentially what was going to happen) later, Harry carried her up to the girls' dorm and knocked on the door.

Thankfully, the stairs worked based on intent.

Astonishingly, a very naked and giddy Hermione opened the door – and to her horror, noticed that Harry was standing there carrying Lavender in a bridal hold.

Hermione let out an ear-piercing squeal before diving behind the nearest curtains. Parvati, who had just recently gone up from her relaxing evening with Ron just shook her head trying to repress a smirk before motioning to a bed near the window-pane on the farthest corner of the room.

"Thanks, Parvati. Did you have a nice evening with Ron?"

Harry entered and walked towards Lavender's bed.

"Oh yes! Yeah, it was great. He was fantastic; he's such a nice guy... I mean..." as she trailed off, she noticed the slight glow on Lavender's face as she slept in Harry's arms, breathing quite softly. Her eyes widened comically.

"Did you – Did you two, you know, did you actually do it?"

Harry's eyebrows perked up at the question before giving a quiet chuckle.

"No. No, I wouldn't let things go that far while she's not in a state of proper judgement. Never know – she might regret me in the morning." With a smile, he slid his wand down his sleeve and pulled the covers back, and gently positioned Lavender in her bed, before covering her up again.

"Oh," Parvati had a slight blush on her face. "Oh, okay. I mean, that's very ... nice of you. And no! She _definitely_ would not regret it! I mean – I ..." She grew quite flustered by the end of this, causing Harry to just laugh a little more. He turned and noticed Hermione was still behind the curtains, and that she also had a slight awed expression on her face, which she quickly hid with an approving smile.

"Oh, by the way, you wouldn't happen to know where her nightdresses are, would you?"

Before Parvati could say anything, Harry justified himself. "It's just that she'd probably not want to mess up such a beautiful dress by sleeping in it, so..."

Parvati was still slightly suspicious of exactly _how_ Harry would get it on her without 'doing anything more', as he claimed, but decided to watch. She answered by pointing to the nearest heap of cloths, and a silver satin night dress caught his eye – apparently, Lavender was neat enough to fix her night clothes _before_ going to the Ball.

He waved his hand over it so that it looked like he was still using his wand, and immediately the dress that Lavender had previously been wearing switch places with it.

With a smile reminiscent of a job well-done, Harry thanked the two ladies for passage and got out of the room in an unhurried fashion.

It was only after he'd left that Hermione noticed the mirror behind her.

**.oOo.**

In the morning, Lavender would wake up to the faces of her three roommates, all with a slightly jealous tinge to their interrogative expressions.

Hermione led the Spanish Inquisition.

"Okay, explain what happened last night between the two of you! He practically _put you to sleep!_"

When Harry overheard the gossip later on during breakfast, he almost choked on his pumpkin juice.

It turned out afterwards that Lavender had decided Harry _was_ worth all the trouble and she made it known by claiming a seat next to him in every one of their shared classes.

Harry didn't have any problems with it – after all, Fleur would probably need a proper hostage for the second task, and Harry himself obviously didn't fit the bill.

No, Harry wasn't feeling down at all, no sir.

He even had a very beautiful girlfriend who actually liked him for who he was (at least, he hoped so).

He'd made sure afterwards, of course. He had developed a disconcerting habit of slight paranoia and distrust ever since his sixth year. The time jump hadn't gotten him to forget that aspect of his personality.

He heard another interesting story from the Yule Ball night, though.

Apparently, Seamus Finnegan had 'pulled a Harry', as it were, and had done practically the same thing he'd done, but this time it was to Tracey Davis, one of the only half-bloods of their year in Slytherin. Millicent Bulstrode had been particularly helpful to him.

Except he got cornered by Nott, Goyle and Crabbe on his way out. The funny part was that Zabini, _Blaise_ Zabini stood with him against them.

Things would have gotten worse, if it hadn't been for the fact that Daphne Greengrass herself entered with an unidentified Gryffindor on her arm, and the couple roughly shoved everyone away down the middle so that Nott didn't get the chance to get his wand out.

A couple of _somnus_ and a _stupefy_ later, Zabini had shaken hands with Finnegan as the latter had been escorted out.

A new era of friendship and breakthroughs was beginning at Hog – No. Blaise hadn't acted much more than polite and reserved with Finnegan afterwards. Nobody found any reason to disturb the peaceful status quo that reigned in the aftermath of that, and everything went just perfect for everyone involved.

**.oOo.**

Harry was actually enjoying himself a lot more than he would have previously thought, with Lavender. There was, unquestionably, substance and depth to her that he hadn't bothered to get to know before his jump. He almost regretted that, if it weren't for the fact that they were currently getting to know each other extremely well, and she seemed to have a burning desire for his throat.

Fleur didn't want to admit it, but the hickeys around his neck had put her off a lot more than she'd intended, and as such she was much more distracted in her daily interactions – a fact that didn't go unnoticed by either him or Madame Maxime. Neither cared, so long as it didn't put her off track for her second task – which she had assured her Headmistress that she had taken care of.

Fortunately for her, Harry didn't quite believe her when he heard it later from his very own little ladybug, so one night at dinner about three weeks before the second task Fleur found a small piece of parchment slipped into her hand by the handsome little boy.

'_Pine fresh – c'est le mot de passe pour les baignoires privées, troisième porte à gauche dans le couloir en haut. Prend l'œuf pour un p'tit bain. Je t'expliquerai là-bas, si tu viens, vers minuit.'_

She raised an eyebrow at the insinuation, but decided to humour him nevertheless. After all, he had definitely intrigued her before, and if his skills at the both the First Task and the Yule Ball were anything to go by, he would certainly be a useful asset. Not to say she didn't have her reservations, though.

_Quand même, ça aurait été bien d'avoir reçu l'aide de quelqu'un ayant un peu plus de délicatesse et de maturité qu'un gosse comme lui._

_Mais j'me doute de quoi, moi – tout ça, c'est normal – ces anglais ne savent vraiment rien du raffinement. __Quelle horreur! _

Thankfully for her, Harry hadn't read her surface thoughts; that would have easily put him off his noble intentions and left him fuming in anger.

Fleur turned around to him and gave him a short, stiff nod before going back to her food. Harry took it as a good sign – he was right after all; she hadn't known. Harry sat down with a satisfied sigh, and picked up his fork once more.

He was in fact quite nervous; Fleur was around his actual age, and moreover, he hadn't done anything with her before the time jump. So in fact, he was going in practically blind and mostly uninformed.

She'd also never given him much thought before she had died in his time. She had eyes only for Bill, and as loath as Harry was to admit it, he was glad he would be able to get a chance with her this time around _without_ the presence of Weasley n° 1.

He had been _insanely_ jealous of Bill.

The non-destructive kind of jealousy, but it was still jealousy, and that emotion dictated that he took every chance offered to him to be able to make up for lost time and try and get the girl.

Harry was actually glad that Gabrielle was quite similar to her sister – it gave him a slight indication as to what Fleur might be like, and what she might want. Even though he hadn't ever pursued things with Gabrielle, she had developed a sort of hero-worship complex for him that he really couldn't do anything about. Unfortunately, her complex changed her personality, so Harry still wasn't sure if Fleur and his Gabrielle could be considered similar.

Either way, it was only in the aftermath of the second task that Fleur was a bit warmer towards him. So he believed that if he could somehow get on her good side even before the task, her cold demeanour might just crack around him.

Harry sighed; he didn't really understand his obsession for Fleur. Without giving it much more thought, though, he went to prepare himself for the upcoming _confrontation_ – he had no illusions about how it would start off.

**.oOo.**

Fleur was happy to notice that Harry Potter hadn't misled her – but she was long ways off of even beginning to trust his intentions. For some reason, something about the boy seemed off. She wasn't able to identify what it was that she considered so off-putting, but there was definitely something about him that marked him as different from the others, and just as dangerous as any other seventh year she had seen and met so far.

She entered that private bathroom just like Harry had instructed her to – she had learnt from some of the Ravenclaws that it was better known as the prefects' bathroom, but she was not prepared for the sheer opulence of it, compared to the rest of the school.

Apparently, the Beauxbatons' copy was just a mash-up of this one, with a bit more lighting and a little less statues and space – in other words, she loved it. She was slightly irked by the living mermaid statue, which seemed to be glaring at her with equal disdain, but she decided to ignore that in favour of the brilliance of the actual baths; they were gigantic and seemed deep enough to be able to be completely submerged in, even for her.

The water was clear; so clear, in fact, that she was able to notice the younger Triwizard champion right away. She looked to his face, searching for any signs of treachery.

What she saw didn't make her happy at all, but, as she put it herself so well, _au moins je n'ai pas affaire à un baltringue._

Indeed, Harry Potter was looking at her with undisguised emotion – raw, almost palpable hunger, even. Just as he opened his mouth when his jaw slackened, he realized what he was doing, and quickly coughing and spluttering the water out of his mouth he stood up from the bath.

As his fit ended, he shook his head slightly and addressed her.

"_Bonsoir, Fleur. Merci d'être venue, et plus précisément, je te remercie pour ne pas avoir divulgué le mot de passe."_

Slightly intrigued by the fact that his French was indeed as immaculate in pronunciation as it was in writing, Fleur acquiesced his thanks and returned her own, in her own mother tongue, phrasing the sentence complicatedly so as to check if he 'really' knew how to speak French, and not just some memorized lines.

Satisfied with the smile and the casual '_J'ten prie'_, Fleur opened her next line of questioning.

**(A/N For the purposes of reader comprehension I'll stick to writing French in English. Suffice it to say that whenever Fleur speaks to her sister, friends, parents or Harry, she speaks in French.)**

"How did you know about this?"

"Actually, I sort of got lucky... I was frustrated and annoyed, and I decided I needed to take a hot, nice, long shower, and so I ended up here."

Seeing Fleur's suspicious looks at how he even got 'here' in the first place, Harry hurried on.

"And then I got startled by Arielle – she's the mermaid statue – and I tripped and fell with my bag and egg into the water. Once the egg hit the bottom, the latch opened up ... go on, you try it. Make sure you can hear the scream while it happens."

Fleur decided that either this was a very elaborate plot setup by Harry in some sick scheme to get her wet, or he was telling the truth, and she decided to give him a chance.

She never expected his original reason to have been _both¸_ and when she heard for herself the message within, she immediately let go of her suspicions and jumped out of the bath to give Harry a long, drawn out hug, which left him mumbling and blushing quite unlike what he was used to.

_For Merlin's sake, man! I've seen Hermione naked and not raised more than an eyebrow! How is she affecting me this much!_

Unfortunately for Harry, though, Lavender Brown happened to chance upon the prefects' bathroom that same night while looking for him, and found it unlocked. Curious, she slipped inside to a very unsavoury sight. Seeing red, Lavender got to conclusions much quicker than she would have if she had been analysing the situation in an impassive manner, and bellowed out a _bombarda_.

"HARRY BLEEDIN' POTTER! HOW DARE YOU, YOU TWO TIMING BASTARD!"

Lavender's screech quickly tore the two teens apart and unluckily for Harry, his blushing face and eager sex told Fleur everything she needed to know.

"Oh you disgusting pig! And I thought you were helping me through the goodness of your heart!" Fleur quickly stormed out over a rather indignant-looking Lavender and a completely confused Harry.

He quickly schooled his face to a pleading look and ran towards Lavender with an overpowered _protego _to curb her furious onslaught.

"Lav, darling, I was only helping her for the tournament, I swear! Please, you've got to believe me!"

Lavender turned away from him in anger, and even the mighty Harry Potter had to face the fact that he had royally arsed himself in her eyes. No amount of pleading would reason with an emotional Lavender Brown, especially seeing as she had an easy-to-flare temper.

However, Harry wasn't James' son for no reason. Perseverance always got him results, and so he followed her around without hounding her, but still managing to look like a lost puppy. Every time he wanted to start talking, though, Lavender would glare at him and he would refrain from doing anything other than simply following her around. He figured that if nothing else, that would at the very least get her used to his presence mentally and thus get her to accept him and start to miss him should he disappear. Fortunately for Harry, the wild goose not-really-a-chase, which dragged him around the whole school at least once ended in front of the Gryffindor common room.

"Look, Harry! I don't care about your excuses!"

"But Lav..." Harry was cut off, as usual.

"Don't call me that!"

"Would you please just listen to me? This is the first time I've been in a situation like this – I swear by my magic and my life that I haven't cheated on you!"

As a bright glow embraced Harry, Lavender gave a loud gasp and abruptly slapped him. Shakily, she took a step back. This was not going _anything_ like any of them had planned. After a moment, she regained her voice.

"Harry! How dare you make an oath on your life! You could have _died_! Or worse, lost all your magic!"

Not for the first time, Harry questioned her priorities. Without voicing them, of course; he wasn't going to stick his foot in his mouth again. Instead, he continued with his answer.

"It just seemed like the only way you would look at me or even her me out. I'm sorry if I scared you, and I'm happy you care."

Harry's eyes had taken a distant look as he finished the sentence, and Lavender's own eyes glistened.

"Of course I care, Harry," Lavender replied in a soft tone before leaning close to him and giving him a long and tight hug, "it's just that it's really difficult seeing you with someone else... and seeing your obvious reaction to it." Lavender finished with a glare.

Harry fumbled about before answering. "Lavender, you're the only one I really care for, I swear. What happened with Fleur is exactly as I said before – I was helping her with the egg – for the second task, you know."

He hoped she would not notice his omission or his lack of response to his reaction issue.

"And the intensely emotional hug which got such a _rise_ out of you?"

_So much for that hope._

"Lav, I'm a male teenager. I have hormonal reactions I _can't_ control. Please," at this Harry dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together – overdoing it couldn't possibly hurt –, "please believe me – I meant what I said at the Ball. I've still only got eyes for you."

That was all it took to for Lavender's resolve to crumble – not that it was that great in the first place when it had to deal with anything related to Harry – and she jumped in his arms with a passionate kiss.

**.oOo.**

The day of the second task was upon them, and Harry had _really_ not wanted to let go Lavender the night before. By the time they had finished cuddling, a somewhat amused Lavender followed an irritated Professor McGonagall to the Headmaster's office, reassuring her boyfriend that she would return soon. She didn't notice McGonagall's lips twitch, and neither did she see Harry's concealed smirk.

Thankfully for her, though, Harry was prepared. The self-transfiguration spell he had been working on worked marvellously – it seemed he had inherited some of the natural ability of his father. As a result, Snape wouldn't be complaining about stolen potions ingredients.

Just like before, Fleur had trouble with grindylows. Just like before, Harry James Potter came to the rescue.

This time, though, he managed the whole thing in a far more elegant manner, naturally enhanced by his transformations. He gracefully swam to the platform without surfacing, and only released his treasures once he was certain of their safety.

Naturally, he was well rewarded later on during the day.

**.oOo.**

Despite all of his precautions, though, Harry was not able to protect everyone. In his previous time, Cedric had died – this time, Harry had decided that he wouldn't act chivalrous. Chivalry, after all, kills people – a valuable lesson that he had learned previously, on many occasions.

He hadn't taken into account the fact that Death doesn't like to be cheated – in fact, she holds quite a famous grudge, and she'll find a way to exact vengeance, even if she doesn't kill you outright.

It was the day of the third task. Harry, being in the lead, had started off before the other three and was currently facing what seemed to be some sort of an illusion mixed with an inferius. Not wishing to spend too much time on figuring out the issue, he quickly sent an _incendio_ to take it out while spelling his eyes to ignore the illusion. Passing through the challenge, he came to an abrupt stop.

Sat in front of him on the pedestal was the Triwizard Cup – but this wasn't where it had been last time. Shrugging it off with only a slightly nervous feeling Harry picked up the cup, expecting the portkey to take him to the graveyard in Little Hangleton.

He got a rude shock when instead he heard a scream nearby – where he immediately ran to – only to find Fleur sobbing about a masked death eater appearing and sending a stunner at Cedric and disappearing with his catch.

_Actually,_ Harry pondered for a brief moment, _Fleur is extremely articulate for being in such a sobbing state._

Then, of course, his hereditary saving-the-people gene kicked in (also in tandem with his sense of survival) and he made a portkey out of the cup he was holding before apparating to a certain graveyard full of memories.

What he had not expected was a gleeful Wormtail tying up an obviously confused Death Eater to the stone statue that had once nearly been Harry's demise. Diggory was on his back, trying to get up but struggling impotently against an invisible all-encompassing barrier, and Harry had no way of assessing exactly what he was dealing with.

He could only watch in shock as Voldemort resurrected all of a sudden, completely at the wrong time from what he was expecting. He hadn't even noticed the cauldron behind the massive gravestone that was shielding him from view.

He was about to drop everything he had planned and just grab Cedric and port back when he was interrupted by a voice that sent shivers through his spine.

"A minute of your time, Potter!"

Voldemort had put up both anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards. Harry wondered at that, but then realized he must have expected Cedric to know apparition.

All around the wards, Harry could now see the numerous Death Eaters who had answered their lord's call. The situation was dire, and there was little hope in sight.

_Shit. Fucking SHIT! I should have alerted the headmaster previously. Now this stupid fucking oversight might just kill us!_

Harry turned to Cedric to see a resolved and hard stare looking determinedly at him. Silently lauding his courage and stoic nature, Harry placed a compulsion charm on him to apparate himself back to the Triwizard Tournament grounds the millisecond the wards drop.

Now that he had covered that, the only thing left was to keep him alive till that happened.

Fortunately for Cedric, the moment came sooner than Harry expected.

Unfortunately for Harry, the moment came before he had the time to establish a proper way to salvage the situation.

"I'll come back for you, Harry, I swear." Cedric murmured as he vanished away, much to the consternation and protests of the Death Eaters gathered around them. They had not expected either of the two to have enough energy to port away after what seemed to be extremely strenuous actions.

This Voldemort was not what Harry was used to – he seemed much more willing to use the organ in his cranium to maximum effect. As such, he needed to capitulate on the fact that Harry Potter was still here, while there was a chance that others with more benevolent intentions than him were going to port any moment and engage in a full scale battle with him, so soon after his rebirth.

This was something that Voldemort could not allow – he needed to destroy their primary sources of morale – one Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

He quickly engaged Potter into a one-sided duel, exacting swift revenge for the years of pain that he had suffered at the boy's hands, and just as he was about to end it, he noticed a series of pops signifying people apparating just outside the wards that he had lowered for a moment for his Death Eaters to enter through.

Foremost among them was Albus Dumbledore, and surprisingly, Cornelius Fudge.

With a snarl of rage, Voldemort continued his onslaught all the while commanding his servants to power the wards by any possible means – even blood magic.

"See, Potter, we've got ourselves an audience today! How utterly delightful to have the world watch you burn while it stands yards away, in impotent rage!"

Harry always had a succinct answer, and this time was no exception.

"Fuck you, Tom! They'll break through, and I'll have the pleasure of destroying you once again!"

Harry was, of course, continuously dodging and wheezing out air as the fight got more and more brutal. In fact, Voldemort was surprised that Harry knew some of the spells that he did; for some reason, he suspected foul play – this mere boy could not know such spells, or fight with such alarming ability.

No matter – he was Lord Voldemort, and nothing would stand in his way. He always had a plan. With a malevolent smirk, Voldemort unleashed a massive area-wide destruction spell which wove away from his servants and Harry, before gloating for a short while to the frustrated audience surrounding them outside his dome-like structure.

"Spectators! Allow me to give you a show that you will not forget for a long while!"

He strode towards Harry in a relaxed pace, beckoning the young wizard to get himself up and ready after a moment's respite.

"How many of you are familiar with the soul, the _animus_ of a person? And the magic pertaining to this domain? Not many? How... disappointing." The snide remark was not lost on anyone.

"Well, let me enlighten you. When we are born, half of our soul is human and powers the body and mind. What you don't know, is that there exists another half to our soul.

A divine half."

Giving a moment for the look of disbelief to wash from the faces of the _audience_, Voldemort continued.

"Yes, all of us, when we are born, possess a divine half to our soul. I, however, lost that before I even knew it." At that, Voldemort chuckled lightly, and an uneasy laughter followed in the ranks of his servants.

"Indeed – acts that corrupt the divinity of a soul cause us to forever lose this half, which some call conscience, other call morality. I lost mine completely before I could do something about it – not that I regret it that much. This _divinity_," Voldemort continued scathingly, "after all, is a major weakness and flaw."

Many were wondering why Voldemort was taking so much time explaining something that they viewed as extraneous to the situation. They were enlightened the very next moment.

"And do you know the pain that can be caused by forcefully ejecting this divine half of our soul? No? Well, you're all in luck. Mr. Potter here is about to find out."

With an insane quality about his reptilian face, Voldemort cast an extremely quick spell at Harry, who did not have the time to dodge and merely stood in shock while the spell hit him.

A moment passed, and he felt nothing.

Another passed, and he realized he really could not feel _anything _at all_. _Harry Potter was completely numb.

And at last, feeling returned to his nerves, and thus began the pain.

Harry Potter was writhing on ground from the immeasurable pain he was suffering without being able to pass out; a cruel torture in the minds of everyone watching. Harry had suffered at the hands of Voldemort's cruciatus curse just previously; one would have expected him to have developed a slight tolerance to the pain, or at least numbness.

Nothing could compare with the pain that he was currently feeling, not a tenth of it closer.

The audience could only watch in horror as a slight golden hue emanated from his screaming mouth and bloodied nose, as if his very essence was leaking out. As soon as it had left, the screaming toned down to whimpers.

Before long, the whimpering husk that was once the body of Harry Potter disintegrated before their very eyes, leaving two glowing orbs of light in its wake; one golden, and the other white.

Voldemort made a note to himself to practice the spell properly; using it for the first time ever was bound to fail at some level – after all, he had intended the human part of Harry's soul to suffer indefinitely in the husk that was now dust.

It was his turn to be shocked, however, when a loud, booming voice made itself known from the golden orb.

"And one thing that _you_ should know, Voldemort, is that you have now freed a minor aspect of the Light from its human counterpart. We are now free, unfettered by the laws that govern us all!"

_This show just got its viewer ratings and satisfaction increased tenfold, _Harry's human soul commented. It turned towards his divine counterpart before giving a quick flash of light, signifying it agreed with the decision.

Merging would be best for the both of them.

When the two converged, however, under the fascinated eyes of everyone in their presence, they seemed to annihilate each other they could feel that something was going wrong.

Indeed, because Harry's human soul was now in human form, aged down to an eight year old, and hurtling frantically towards the front door of a house. It hit the door at high velocity and immediately lost consciousness.

Amnesia now had its hold on him, and even though he didn't know it, Human Harry was now on Earth – delta, 1988. The house he had crashed into happened to be the Potter's residence.

Some would say serendipity; others would say that the Light watched over him. Both would be right.

Back on Earth – alpha, the Divine part of Harry's soul was similarly catapulted far away, but unlike his human counterpart, he managed to remain in this universe.

Unfortunately, it found itself on the wrong planet, and in the form of what the local populace would call an elemental, albeit an unusual and illogical one - a holy elemental.

Azeroth now had its own tangible pseudo-deity of the Light, years before the arrival of the Naaru and the Exodar.

* * *

**Right, so what do you think? **

**I'm sure by now many of you have realized I have an unnatural tendency to include demons and angels in my stories - luckily for me that both exist in the Warcraft universe, in various forms.**

**I'll endeavour to address every single concern and comment as soon as they're posted, and I'm willing to make concessions to valid arguments. Critics are most welcome, as long as they keep an open-mind.**

**The pairings of this story will be explored in the next chapter, and you will be able to vote on them at the end of it. In this story, it's very likely to be Harry/Sylvanas, or Harry/Aegwynn.**


	2. Re-Orientation

**Due to some fantastic feedback that I've received from many of you, I am reworking some aspects of this chapter, as well as adding the second part to this. You may find things you have read before and understood (or misunderstood) clarified, and thus I urge you to read the whole chapter once more for comprehensibility, as certain things from the second half of this chapter will only be clear if you read the corresponding part in the first half.**

**I thank all of my readers once more for the encouragement and I hope the second half will be up to your standards, all the while elucidating how I plan on introducing the darker themes that will be prevalent in this story.**

**Oh, and to Kamagong and Garm88 – Yes, his name is changed, but since he isn't exactly Harry anymore, just a part of him, that's alright for the purposes of this story.**

**Also, to Ressan – Jaina found Magna Aegwynn at her home in the hills near Ratchet, who then agreed to help Jaina as an advisor after a series of events that I will be using in this story. It's safe to say, the demon Zmodlor **_**will**_** be making an appearance. After all, demons are an integral part of most cases of corruption in Azeroth. I don't believe I made any plans for Durotar in itself, though – can't see why you'd think I'd mess up Orgrimmar.**

* * *

**Notice: This story is best read in a 3/4 format, and a slightly larger font than default - for your eyesight, of course.**

* * *

**Chapter 2 – Re-Orientation**

Harry Potter was in pain. He didn't believe it was possible to hurt a soul, but somehow, somewhere in the middle of the massive backlash from the failed attempt at merging both halves his half had managed to attain a semi-corporeal state. Being semi-corporeal meant that he was a tangible mass, thus not exempt from the laws of Physics he had learnt about so long ago.

In fact, the tree he had hit had managed to shatter his (what looked like) shoulder bones in pieces, something which had him baffled, because he still did not comprehend how he had managed to acquire a semi-rigid skeleton structure. When he tried to feel the other part of his body, he realized he didn't really have a structure, mostly a weird, humanoid shape with no feet that he could see, but instead as if a point from where his 'holy' mass was being generated. He seemed to have transparent, golden arms, some sort of a head, and his whole being coalesced to form a shape not unlike what the inhabitants of this world would call a void walker, but made of light instead of shadows.

A side effect of the crash, of course, was that his arms were currently useless, and he was unable to move far from where he had dug a crater in the ground. Deciding that struggling would solve nothing, Harry turned over his side and rested his back against the nearest rock that was jutting out of the undergrowth before letting his arms drop listlessly on the ground.

_I hope there are creatures here that can understand me..._

His last thoughts while still awake were those of his human half, before giving into the blissful embrace of sleep.

He was woken up by a disturbingly loud noise reminiscent of a humming mechanical drill. With his eyes open, he turned to face the source, and immediately doubled-back in shock. A fair-skinned humanoid with pale yet glowing eyes was staring at him with a look a cross between mania and sorrowful regret.

"I apologize, sir, for catching you unawares in a situation such as this one," the humanoid said to him, which caused his shock to increase – it seemed he could understand it. He was about to say something before the humanoid, who he noticed had extremely long and thin ears, continued, his voice turning gravelly, "but you see, I haven't had my fill of the arcane, of late, due to being so far removed from the sunwell; I haven't been home to Quel'Thalas for many months, being a nomadic peddler. So I hope you'll forgive me for having absorbed some of your energy," at this he paused once more, and Harry realized with sudden dread that the humming noise was the humanoid siphoning some of his golden essence directly off of his body with some sort of nature manipulation. He immediately tried to backpedal, vaguely noticing that all his injuries seemed to have been fixed in the time that he had fallen asleep.

Just as the parasitic creature was about to continue, however, a sudden swishing sound from nearby caused Harry to turn around, enough for him to evade the projectile that was launched at the two of them. His face filled with horror, Harry turned once more to see the gruesome sight in front of him to see the parasitic humanoid get his head chopped clean through by the throwing axe.

By this time, the fight or flight instinct ingrained in him through his harsh childhood finally manifested, even if his body was not able to produce any more adrenalin for it to really be effective, and he rolled out of the way of new predator. Taking control of his bearings, Harry brought his eyes up to the hulking beast in front of him.

A massive, green-skinned, hunk of a humanoid with tribal markings and a nose ring stood in front of him, grunting and growling in between breaths.

It was at this point that Harry dropped all pretence of courage and a huge amount of fear filled him. Two things can happen when a being is filled with fear of this level. The first one, the most common response, is to freeze up completely and lie there in a paralysed position as easy pickings for any predators. The second, much rarer outcome, is that of a cornered beast, where the prey fights backs with every iota of strength it has left in a desperate attempt at survival. The latter was the one currently affecting Harry, thus impeding his previous years' worth of calm fighting.

What he did not expect, however, was to hear this huge, towering monster to speak in a rough, baritone voice.

"I am sorry for doing this to you, spirit of light, but my honour as berserker _will_ be made today!"

Harry lost a lot of his fear at the voice, and regained control of his body and managed to relax in a proper fighting stance, taught to him by the various eminent 'Defence Against the Dark Arts' teachers over the years. The orc himself seemed surprised that his words were understood, but from his point of view he was facing a previously unseen elemental in the inhospitable lands of the Eastern Kingdoms of Azeroth, and one that was shining brightly just hours previously, before that wretched high elf absorbed some of his essence.

A short interlude to inform the readers about the circumstances that brought this (unfortunate) beginner berserker to Harry:

Rhaenar was a young (compared to the rest of his clan) orc, a humanoid species unlucky enough to have been caught up with the bloodlust of the rest of his clan and having been brought to Azeroth as part of a battalion of bloodthirsty combat devils by the Nathrezim and Sargeras' legions.

Now that they were relatively free from the influence of the dread lords and Sargeras, the only thing that remained was their uncontrollable rage and bloodlust.

And so, their clan claimed a certain ruined forward base in the present day position of the Horde village of Hammerfall, in Arathi Highlands. His clan had always deemed themselves superior to others, and had raised the first warlocks within their race. The one thing they prided themselves on more than their so-called superiority was of course their twisted sense of honour. For a berserker to have already seen a score of winters and not have had their first kill was considered disgraceful, and the more prestigious the first kill, the more respect they earned within the workings of their clan – which of course favoured brawn over wit.

Thus young Rhaenar found himself on the trail of a nomadic High Elf who was seen nearby a couple of nights previously. For a berserker, a melee class like him to successfully kill a long ranged assassin was considered no small feat, and as such he spent quite a lot of time preparing for this trial of strength. Once he finally got nearby, though, he observed an unnaturally bright light fill the forest where he was tracking his foe and immediately took measures to camouflage himself as best as possible given the circumstances. Over time, the brightness noticeably lessened, and he peeked over his cover to take stock of the situation.

Apparently, one of those feared elementals was here, and the mage was siphoning of the elemental's... _light_ off of it. Not understanding the situation too well, but intent on getting his kill while his prey was distracted, he readied his throwing axe and shot it on a curved path that would easily cut through both of them as if cutting linen.

Seeing that his attack failed to touch the elemental, Rhaenar swore. He now had no choice but to confront the unheard of elemental.

**.oOo.**

Harry didn't take too long to figure out the hack and slash pattern of the beastly man in front of him. He had fallen into a battle stance that demanded pure concentration, and focused on dodging all blows while deflecting those that were quick enough to get through his guard. He was glad that he knew this fighting style so well, by virtue of having trained against one of the best wizards of his time. Harry realized he was at a disadvantage, though.

He didn't have any weapons. Not that he knew how to use them too well, having only experienced the Sword of Godric Gryffindor while fighting the basilisk, but any weapon would have been helpful. As such, he was not able to wound his opponent.

What he did notice, however, was that for some obscure reason the lower part of his body, while being translucent, was also intangible at will. Not bothering to question his luck, which he knew from previous experience to be obscenely favourable, Harry continued to brawl with the brute. A downwards slash of the two-handed axe was deflected by literally slapping his palms against the flat of the blade, and Harry used the momentum of the slash to bring his knee up to the berserker's stomach and threw a punch to his jaw. Disgruntled by the melee tactics of the elemental he was facing, Rhaenar could do little but keep trying to match his opponent's combat prowess. He was inwardly cursing himself for having been taken off guard by the semi-elemental in front of him. At first he had thought to be facing a full elemental, but now that was closer he could see that this... thing... was semi-humanoid; it had legs, even if his weapons seemed to pass right through them; he had a face and a body that glowed golden, and he had a nose and eyes, though the latter were completely white and glowing bright, reminiscent of the sight he had seen previously.

If Rhaenar hadn't known better, he would have thought that the High Elf had _absorbed_ the part that made the being in front of him a spirit. Of course, that couldn't be true, could it? After all, no elf could absorb an elemental to gain its powers, surely.

His musings were cut off violently, though, a millisecond before his head was smashed in by a dense iron hammer wield by one of Silver Hand. Thus ends Rhaenar, honourless inexperienced berserker, at the hands of a paladin of the Silver Hand, a faction headed by Uther Lightbringer.

**.oOo.**

"Would you _please_ stop looking at me like I'm some sort of deity personified? Honestly, this is annoying." A very thoroughly exasperated Harry berated the grey-haired human who was walking beside him.

A little bit affronted at that, the self-titled High Commander of the Holy forces grumbled to Harry. "I... apologize, lord."

A scream of utter frustration made it known to the Commander that he was overstepping his bounds. "I am no lord, commander Mograine, I told you this before! I do not know why I lost my glow, compared to before, nor do I know why I assumed the form of what you call an elemental, and I do not know why I seem to be able to understand every single language you speak to me in! I am not, once again, _from here_!"

**.oOo.**

The bickering continued for a while afterwards, and by the end of the day, the two acquaintances had reached the deserter's *cough* Commander's home in the woods on the hills.

While Harry had not yet decided what to do with himself, stuck in a foreign land with no foreseeable future with his human counterpart from Earth, he decided he could begin anew on this world. Therefore he asked his new acquaintance on what he could engage himself with, and how he could possibly make a living on these foreign lands. Basilan Mograine had looked at him then, trying to gauge his age, and decided to ask him instead of making a mistake. The answer that he got, however, had reinforced his idea that he was not dealing with a normal being of light, but did put him in a tight spot, as 'practically immortal, so I don't know my age' was not an acceptable answer in any given profession while looking for an instructor.

Harry had gotten over the dilemma by asking him if he could train him to be a paladin, and this had struck a chord with the old man.

"Alright, I'll take you as my apprentice. But I must warn you, sir; this will not be an easy process, and it will definitely take years to gain a mastery over the light like I do."

At that, Harry chuckled.

"I will also warn you that I will run you into the ground with training. You need to decide what sort of a paladin you wish to be, and depending on that, what your primary fighting styles will be, and what they will require."

That sobered him up.

"Now, since I can't keep on addressing my apprentice as 'sir', I'd like your name," Mograine said. "Please." He added, as an afterthought.

This told Harry many things; for one, it was very likely that Mograine had indeed at one point been a person of very high regard and position among some sort of military force, and that he was not lying about being able to train him to survive in this world. He had no doubts that Mograine had faced some terrible foe and was now a deserter – there were no other plausible explanations for living in such a remote location when he could be living in the comfort and luxury of an urban environment surrounded by friends and family.

Still, the man had ways to go before Harry could trust him, and as he had decided he would be starting over in this world until he found a way back to his own planet, he would definitely be recreating himself. It was time for a new identity.

"You may call me Apollo."

**.oOo.**

"Apollo! That's quite enough! I dare say that rock will still be suffering in rock heaven."

Indeed, Apollo was still punching through the rock with a golden glow about his hands, and the overpowered hits would easily give him away as a non human, if the golden skin was not enough.

"All right, old man. I'll see you for dinner; I have some _things_ to go and take care of."

Mograine sighed. He had not been wise all those years ago, when he had decided to take Apollo on as a trainee Paladin. His contacts in the old order were still distrustful of him, and when he had decided to finally introduce Apollo to them, half of the other trainees had started fawning over him, as if due to being a Light elemental meant he was The Light personified. As such, the masters of the order, Uther included, decided that it would be better for all if Apollo were to keep training in his remote location. There was not much the masters could teach him in the manipulation and imploration of The Light to do their bidding, unfortunately. Apollo did, after all, have the ability to have the light do his will to such an extent he could be considered a demigod, and for some reason, no one seemed to be able to be jealous of him, instead seeking to literally bask in his radiance.

Apollo had not taken to their behaviour very well; it seemed to bring up unpleasant memories of his previous home and had decided that seclusion would bear the best fruits.

The masters of the order did not dare go against his wishes, viewing him as a prodigy and as a pseudo-deity willing to grace them with his presence, a thought that brought a visible tick-mark to Mograine's forehead. The order had decided that Mograine, despite his previous actions and crimes, would be forgiven for introducing the prodigy that was Apollo and was fit enough to train him in the arts of warfare. Apollo would continue learning his weapon masteries as chosen, but he had proven himself to be very versatile and had picked up a mix of skills both ranged and melee, thus making him the first truly adaptable retribution oriented Paladin.

He had been rewarded with the title a mere four years after meeting Mograine on that fateful day.

Since Mograine was not very well acquainted with all the weapons that Apollo liked to use, the order had pulled a few strings and managed to get him to train alongside Arthas Menethil, another young prodigy, prince of Lordaeron. Uther was particularly pleased with that development.

Twelve years had passed since Apollo had first arrived on the Eastern Kingdoms; the young Menethil was fast approaching his fifteenth name day. For the last five years, both Apollo and he had been training with the weapons mistress of the Farstriders and First Ranger of Quel'Thalas, the very beautiful and enthralling Sylvanas Windrunner. Her sister Vereesa Windrunner was even seen practicing her marksmanship with Apollo.

As if he were not talented enough with his flexible close-quarters combat, Apollo was a deadeye with most bows. Guns, however, would always knock his aim slightly, due in part to recoil.

Watching him now levitating away over the rough terrain, Mograine couldn't help but sigh. Somehow, at some point or another, Apollo had achieved a mastery over the light so great that he became one of the best healers this side of the dark portal. When the Head Priestess of Lordaeron heard of the news, she could not help but scoff at that and immediately set off to challenge Apollo's knowledge and skills.

_She_ had arrived on a four-horse drawn carriage with great pomp near the closest human settlement, which incidentally had been suffering for several months of an unidentifiable disease; the best apothecaries could not cure the infected apart from giving them momentary relief in the form severe depressants. Apollo, not having been informed of the fact was outraged at this and immediately set out to heal all those infected and consecrate the ground he worked on so as to stop the pestilence.

He had worked himself to exhaustion through the day, and by the time the priestess had arrived, he had finished healing over three hundred patients by himself. Having been working for the previous ten hours, he had been too tired to hear the carriage stop in town and had moved on to the next patient.

Loraine, Head Priestess of the Light at the largest chapel of the seven kingdoms of man, had been extremely irritated at being ignored and had moved on to the hospice to see for herself the reason why her host could not show himself. At first, she thought it due to cowardice.

After having taken a single glimpse of Apollo, though, she stopped that line of thought instantly.

She took in with amazement a beautiful sight: a man who seemed to give off a bright golden aura about him, with semi-ethereal features, such as his sun-kissed hair, was healing patients at an inhuman rate. He seemed not to need to spend more than two minutes per patient – and inwardly, she was surprised. She could see how many patients were in the hospice, and how many she had been told were there previously. There was a drop of at least three hundred odd patients within the space of the ten hours it had taken her to travel to Arathi.

Loraine, exhausted from the day's travels, watched silently as Apollo continued to heal the remaining patients.

A long hour later, he finished and turned to see he had an audience.

"Lady Loraine," Apollo exclaimed in shock, remembering that she had been scheduled to arrive about an hour before. He took an audible gulp before continuing, "I apologize for taking so long, I—"

"You need not concern yourself with formalities, Paladin. This proved to be a true test for your skills and mettle, one that couldn't have been more appropriate than any situation I would have created."

"Oh... I apologize all the same, your ladyship. I should have been present to receive you, and I—"

"I've said it once before, do not make me say it again, Paladin." Apollo could hear the exasperation in her tone, even if it was tinged with the barest traces of amusement.

"Anyways, let me continue. I believe you have proved your claims true, or your master's claims, whichever it is, I do not care for. I hereby would like to offer you the possibility to train with your brothers and sisters of the light who have taken the white. What say you, Paladin?"

Apollo noticed the repetition of his title and wondered what her ploy was. She was obviously interested in 'staking a claim' on the Silver Hand's pseudo-deity, but there was something more in it for her. Curious as to the reason, he turned his gaze deep into Loraine's own and spread his psychic presence to hers.

Loraine could feel the depth of the eyes of the gaze boring into her, and she could not help but fall deep into Apollo's thrall.

As soon as Apollo turned his eyes away, though, their connection broke, and Loraine shook herself free, wondering what exactly the entity in front of her was, to be able to manipulate his affinities in such a manner. The only ones she had encountered who could do such things without losing themselves in their victim's minds were shadow priests and certain warlocks. This reinforced her belief that the Paladin in front of her would a great asset to the Servants of the Light, and not the puny Order of the Silver Hand, even if Uther Lightbringer was at its head. Quelling her incessant internal ramblings, she focused on the man in front of her, wordlessly asking her question once again.

Apollo, for his part, was slightly embarrassed. It seemed that the woman in front of him _did_ in fact have ulterior motives – to get him to impregnate her so she could claim having a child with a god.

_That one is definitely one to avoid, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't take training where I can get it. After all, the Head Priestess can't constantly be teaching me, surely? She must have other duties to attend to. So I guess..._

"I accept, your Ladyship."

And so, Mograine recollected, Apollo had gained priestly training, a result of which was the levitating paladin retreating from his field of vision.

As he reflected on his life he realized he had finally found someone worthy enough for the Mograine family curse.

**.oOo.**

Basilan Mograine was dying. He knew it, Uther knew it, Loraine knew it, Fel, even the birds knew it. This was the subject of Apollo's rage today.

After all, if he had known, he would have been able to heal whatever Mograine _thought_ had been infecting him.

Apparently, though, that was not enough to sway Mograine.

"Light damn it, Mograine! I can probably still heal whatever is afflicting you, and you know it! Why are you being so damn stubborn?"

"Apollo – leave it. You would not understand. You may be practically a god, my friend, but even gods aren't omnipotent!"

Apollo just rolled his eyes at his mentor before continuing the tirade.

"That's the most illogical thing I've ever heard. Gods _are_ generally omnipotent, and I'm _not_ a god. Nice chiasm. No, damn you, Mograine, I've had enough of this nonsensical behaviour. You will tell me _now_ why you think I shouldn't heal you, and I'll consider that _after_ I've finished the process."

For the first time since meeting him, Apollo saw Basilan Mograine explode.

"Fel damn it, Apollo, it's not that you _can't_ heal me, it's that you _shouldn't_!"

Taking in the shocked look Apollo was sporting, Basilan sighed deeply before continuing his argument.

"You see, Apollo, there is a special curse that runs in my family. We call it the Barrows Edict. Don't ask me for the circumstances surrounding its genesis, for I do not know it well myself. Instead, let me tell you what it does."

At this, Basilan took out a intricately ornamented pendant from under his shirt and pressed it into Apollo's palm.

"Keep this close to you at all times, Apollo, for in it this pendant holds a fourth of one of the Old Gods. Protect it at the cost of your life, should it be necessary – though I doubt you will ever die – lest it fall in the hands of those who would seek the evil imprisoned within. We Mograines have defended this piece for generations; I would not see it fall with my death. As to why I am to die, well, you see, whosoever carries the pendant invokes and old curse that sustains the barriers surrounding the piece with our very own life force and essence. I have reached the end of my usable life force, and as such, I am fated to die."

Apollo listened to every word with growing incredulity, unable to fathom the indomitability of the task forever entrusted upon his mentor's family. He was silent for a long time, stomaching every word of the conversation so far. He immediately realized something, though.

"There's more to this, isn't there?"

Basilan chuckled softly before answering.

"Yes. I need you to do something for me, as well as a favour. The first thing will help you with the burden I've given you – though, to you, it should not feel so, after all, an immortal with inexhaustible essence – is to meet a certain person. She will tell you more about the situation. The second one is a bit more personal and relevant to you."

"I'm listening, old man."

"_For the sake of all that's holy on this world, _stop your insane idea to wield swords in both hands! It does not befit a paladin of _your_ stature to do so. It sits better with those fanatics that Herod heads. I beg you, Apollo, give up that foolish thought, for it will be your doom. In fact, I will curse you if you do it."

"You will _what?_ You would betray _me _over such a simple issue? Fine, have it your way. I was simply saying that because, _as you know_, I can make myself intangible at will, and if I really want to, I can blast out light from all of my body and outshine the sun."

"What does that have to do with dual-wielding?"

Apollo lightened up. This was the perfect way to get rid of the tension from the situation.

"Comic relief?"

A sharp slap up his head made him grimace. After a moment to clear up the remaining loss of sensory functions, Apollo spoke up.

"So this person that you want me to meet with – where are they?"

Basilan threw him a speculative glance before deciding that his priorities needed to be properly sorted if he wanted to survive.

"_Her_ name is Magna Aegwynn – though don't call her that. Last I heard from her, she told me she was on the eastern part of the continent of Kalimdor, somewhere near thunder lizard hunting grounds, in the midlands."

Apollo sobered up after hearing the name.

"This wouldn't happen to be the same Aegwynn who left your house the day I got here, would it?"

For once, Basilan was completely speechless. He had no idea how Apollo had managed to find that out; he had not informed him in any way about that matter. In fact, if he remembered correctly, there had been no traces that a woman had visited him _at all_ when Apollo had first arrived.

"Yes, but how did you—"

"Not important. Tell me how to get to her, and how she'll know I'm from you. I could have easily killed you and stolen that pendant from you."

Basilan gave his mentee an appreciative look before answering.

"As I was saying, her name is Aegwynn. In fact, if you remember your history lessons, you will remember her as a _very_ influential figure. She is, after all, the last Guardian of Tirisfal."

_That_ quirked Apollo's eyebrows up. A figure of living mythology, friend of Basilan's? _Well, what do you know; this old fart _is_ good for something, after all._

"Tell her that you've inherited the Barrows Edict. Only we Mograines and our ... associates ... know the term and what it entails. She'll know you're coming from me, or at least a trustworthy Mograine, which in current times means me; I haven't heard from Alexandros or his sons ever since my ... I think they are ashamed of me. That is all I ask of you, my friend."

A look of understanding and respect passed between both of them, though Mograine had to look away from the intense brightness of Apollo's eyes. Even though he could control how much ... light ... he was emitting from his body, his eyes always reflected his emotions.

**.oOo.**

Two months later, Apollo found himself at a funeral procession, beside Loraine, Uther, the King and Prince Menethil. Basilan was a very influential figure before his fall from grace, and his subsequent pardon allowed him to retain a lot of that shadow influence.

The service didn't last long enough to be memorable for the citizens who came to attend, but it was enough for Apollo.

While the procession was clearing up, Apollo greeted Uther.

"Lord Uther Lightbringer of the Silver Hand – I would like to put in a request to King Terenas, and it would definitely help my case if you were present and were I to have your support."

Uther's eyebrows lifted speculatively before he gave his assent. Apollo, seeing his chance, motioned to Loraine to join them.

Gathering courage, he addressed the King and his sparring partner.

"My liege, Prince Arthas, I would have a small favour of thee."

Terenas' expression became pensive at this. Paladins such as Apollo never really asked anything of him as they knew they would get it right away, either though their order or through other channels; but to ask it in such a formal manner meant that the demigod in front of him was nervous about something. Hoping to ease the – what he assumed to be – young man in front of him, he gestured him on.

"My liege, I—"

"Speak freely, Apollo of the Light. I have to deal in cumbersome speak with dignitaries from many nations every day. Speaking in such a way, now, would just grate on my ears."

Apollo bowed slightly. "As my liege commands; — your highness, I will be brief. I wish to travel to the uncharted lands of Kalimdor, sanctioned by you as a ... _mercenary_ variable."

Arthas got an incredulous look on his face, which was quickly mirrored by the three other people present in the group. The senior paladin of the group was the first to argue.

"You want to _what_? No, don't repeat yourself. I heard you. _Why_ would you want that? Paladins are forced to report to me, true, but that is only for war situations, Apollo. We are in relative peace, my friend."

Uther's outburst was reflected by Loraine, who had some inkling as to why Apollo would want this.

"Uther, I think he wishes to set up an Order with a permanent presence on the _mythical continent_ of Kalimdor, as we do here." She continued after turning to inspect Apollo's face closely. "What I don't understand is why undertake such a task – we do not have the resources to keep a permanent mission open such a _long way away_ from supply lines – you'll be cut off from the rest of us."

Apollo gave Loraine an appreciative glance before speaking up. Even though she showed scepticism to the news that had reached them through Basilan of a distant land, she chose to not let it interfere with the council views. "My Lady hits the nail close – I am seeking a certain someone in Kalimdor, as a favour to the late Sir Mograine, and yes, I seek at the same time to set up a response team of either mercenaries or conscripts who would technically be under your control while not being hired by whatever party we encounter in Kalimdor, and never against you. This would allow us to spread our reach to the other continents much more quickly, and if need be, send help to all of our forces from a second base, instead of having to keep sending them from here all of the time."

Apollo took a small pause, enough to take a deep breath, before continuing.

"I would work with the dwarves and the gnomes to set up a long-distance communication system with Uther's base of Paladins, the Order of the Silver Hand, here. Consider whoever I manage to gather as a force loyal to Lordaeron, fighting for the good of Lordaeron, as well as a new source of income for your coffers, sire. We would keep a percentage for our betterment, and send the rest home, or anywhere else that you would direct it."

Terenas thought over the arguments for a while before asking the important question.

"How will you recruit them, Apollo? I know you, as a ... demigod – no, humour me, for now – as a demigod would be able to get them to see your vision of peace and prosperity, but what about our forces here? Like it or not, friend, all of the Light know of you and your prowess. You are undeniably one of our best; second to none, even." Here Uther gave a discreet nod to Apollo. "As such, you must understand, this decision is not an easy one, friend. Yet, even now, as we discuss the proceedings, friend Apollo, I see the light and hope in your eyes."

The king took a short breath before continuing. "Very well – Arthas! I'm assigning you your first matter of state. Help Apollo create an administrative system that would allow us total control over the process without impeding its advancement or creating too much micromanagement. Do this without my seal; you have the clearance you need with all diplomats and council. Report once you have finished." At this, he returned his gaze upon Apollo.

"I trust you, Apollo of the Light, and I wish you success upon your endeavours. Come; kneel before us."

Quickly following his instructions, Apollo kneeled in front of his king.

"With this blade, I knight thee, Immortal Apollo, Highlord of the Light. Let thy actions speak greater than thy given name, and let thee be our Light, shining through the coming darkness."

King Terenas Menethil the Second did not know just how prophetic his words would come to be, nor how twisted the being in front of him would become.

**.oOo.**

Having been catapulted into nobility, as it were, Apollo had scarce started to head home that he was assaulted by the general populace, all searching for a way to get his blessings or just simply see him; it was rumoured that simply seeing his otherworldly face would cause aches and pains to fade away.

It did not truly matter that Apollo could not do even a fourth of the things that were attributed to him; his presence was enough to reinvigorate everyone. This was something he had discovered late into his third year of training. After getting extremely frustrated with himself for not being able to divert the flow of a river by using his _light_, he began to blast out his aura. What he noticed, afterwards, was that he was not able to turn it off again, only tune it down to unnoticeable levels. The flipside was that his mastery over the light caused it to gain physical mass and tangibility.

He brought a new meaning to the paladin skill of 'Divine Shield', a closely guarded secret of theirs, whereby a semi-tangible force field would generate over their body, ubiquitously, powered by their faith.

Now, the High Lord of the Light was simply _not allowed_ to tone down his aura, orders from the king; his position needed to be announced, and he couldn't go around walking unnoticed in the shadows.

Apollo had a visible scowl on his face for the rest of the day.

When he finally reached home, he began practicing a stasis spell that had been taught to him by Jaina Proudmoore, a friend of the nation and princess of Kul Tiras who practiced the arcane arts with the other mages in Dalaran.

Apparently, he had learned that he was able to substitute the arcane energies with his light, for certain useful spells. Jaina had at first been excited and tried to get him to train under Antonidas, but the arcane energies were different enough to the Light that the paladins used that most spells would not work.

Still, Apollo considered – it was a nice bonus to be able to manipulate the space-time plane around him to 'blink' up to fifteen yards away in any direction – and Apollo was extremely glad for the levitation mechanic he had learned from the priests; without it he would have been badly hurt after failing to blink properly and instead turning up fifteen yards higher than he had been before.

Generally, a fifteen yard fall is not recommended for anyone, and more so if it happens on top of a ravine.

Finishing the spell, Apollo sighed and turned around to look at the scenery one last time.

A certain Guardian of Tirisfal needed to found, and he would comb all of Kalimdor in search of her if need be.

**[End of Part I]**

Apollo stood in the sweltering heat of the sun, fully decked in a state official's gear, waiting patiently for the captain of _The Veiled Maiden _to bring his small rowing boat to dock. He could see the ship itself a fair distance away, the shore too shallow for a ship of its size. He was seething inwardly – his request for a small ship with him at the helm had been denied – the King overruled him in that matter and instead asked him to take on a crew large enough to start a colony.

Apollo muttered to himself that he was taking on the literal unknown – he didn't know for certain where he was going; he knew there was rumoured to be a gigantic maelstrom in the middle of the veiled sea, he knew that he had to head west, and lastly he knew that he needed to remain on the eastern side of this new continent.

His mutterings went unnoticed to the passers-by, but the captain from the rowing boat saw his trepidation and the moment he neared Apollo, motioned for him to descend onto the wooden vessel and started to reassure him. He understood what was at stake when he first took on the mission, just as the other two ships under his command know to keep going even if one of them were hampered somehow.

After all, Apollo was the leader of the mission, and it was simply inconceivable to them that he was _not_ powerful enough to keep everyone from the wrath of the seas.

"High Lord, we have the necessary provisions for our trip. The other two ships have been properly supplied as well, and the colonists and militia are ready. We are awaiting your command to leave."

Apollo nodded slightly before turning to face the people who he could see were coming to see him off. First off, he could see the proud princess of Kul Tiras, Jaina Proudmoore; secondly, the figures of his mentors, Loraine and Uther, and lastly, with a smiling high elf weapons mistress by his side, the King of Lordaeron.

_Three whole ships under my command – and here I expected to have to be more familiar with the natives of Kalimdor to find help in building the outpost._

With a long, ceremonious farewell, the ships sailed forth on the great sea.

**.oOo.**

One thing Apollo quickly found out was that he should not have brought horses with him. They fretted a lot, especially since the third week of travel.

The two paladins to accompany him, Tirion Fordring and Caelian Sunstrike, had brought their chargers with them, and had insisted for Apollo to bring his own; the horses were uneasy on the swaying deck. Not that he could blame them; many of the colonists had similar reactions to the unsteady floor beneath their feet.

He sighed and turned to greet the three priestesses who had decided to accompany his ship. All three were rather young, but more importantly, and the reason why they had decided to volunteer, they were able-bodied and not afraid to get their hands dirty.

"Lady Alana, Lady Catherine, Sister Nixondra, please, let us got to the captain's quarters. The paladins tell me dinner is served."

Of course, Apollo was not very familiar with the concept of the different dragon flights, and as such was not able to identify the black dragoness travelling with him. Being ignorant of the fact would generally spell doom for a black dragon's target, but today, however, there was a distraction.

Shortly after dinner, the winds picked up and started to violently batter against the hulls of all three ships, threatening to rip the sails apart.

"Storm's a gathering! Lower the main sail! Hoist the moveable portside sails and man the oars! Now!"

The following hustle on the dangerously swaying boat nearly caused many a sailor to tip over, but thankfully the extra safety precautions they had taken at the start of the journey, the tack railings, held everyone together.

"Toss a line! I think I see a man overboard! Ye – wait, No! Man the harpoons, everyone! It's a leviathan!"

Hearing that sudden news, everyone from the paladins to the captain jumped out on the deck. The situation was direr than at first noted; leviathans did not have tentacles.

"Everyone reinforce the harpooners and every mage and hunter come to us! We have to immobilize the tentacles first and foremost! DO NOT LET IT GET THE MAST!"

Apollo quickly reached into his sash and brought out his adamantine war axe, Mograine's legacy, and took an aggressive stance that focused on quick feet movement. After all, he needed to be nimble if he was to chop through the offending tentacles. Near him, all three priestesses began chanting to harness the power of light to heal the wounded, and the soon-to-be-wounded, and he could see all the marksmen in the crew take their positions against the gargantuan beast. Thankfully, his ship was the only one under attack.

"That ain't no leviathan, rookie... IT'S A KRAKEN!"

The shout was barely heard over the din of the storm and the crashing waves against the hull, along with the screams of men and women nearby, but it was still heard.

_Good; very good. I will be able to test our might against this puny creature!_

Apollo never noticed the way he had addressed himself in his mind.

On the deck, the battle was raging. The kraken hadn't showed its face yet, but its tentacles were everywhere wreaking utter havoc. Not a single person was left unscathed, and everyone was running about trying to either stick a harpoon in it or just trying to secure other people or similar precious cargo for their outpost.

"Tirion! Lend me your hammer! Get Caelian to gather the gunpowder and I'll light it up! Now!"

Tirion cursed and dodged a flailing arm before grabbing onto the mast's tack and securing himself to it.

"A little busy, Apollo!"

"Well – damn it – stop being busy AND START RUNNING!"

"What? ... Oh for –"

A mighty crash resounded just below – the cannons had come loose. Nixondra ran downstairs with the pretext of healing the wounded below while Alana took on the job of healing those she left untended.

"Caelian! Hurry up, NOW!"

"What, Tirion? I'm trying not to get squished here, so hurry up!"

Tirion, still holding onto the slackened tack, barrelled to his friend's rescue and bashed the offending arm off of him. Without turning back to face him, he continued vociferating.

"Go! Get the gunpowder casks from just below! Apollo has a fool's idea, but he has one nevertheless, so we're humouring him. Now make haste!"

People weren't dying yet, thanks to the watchful healing from both priestesses, but that wasn't to last – although the marksmen were shooting with deadly aim whenever a fellow soldier was lifted from the ship, they were quickly tiring from the relentless assaults of the massive sea monster. Another problem they face was ammunition – a kraken could take many hits, in fact, too many hits.

Some say beasts are ignorant creatures with no mind for strategy, others claim that monsters are supernatural beings with a sixth sense allowing them to terrify and torment us. They would both be wrong – the kraken has an intelligent mind, and thus it noticed the holy substance the priestesses were using to mar his efforts. With increasing rage, it targeted one of them, and then struck with all of his free tentacles. It wasn't much of a struggle.

SPLAT!

Finally; it had managed to squeeze one to a bloodstain.

"NO, CATHERINE!"

Apollo couldn't believe his eyes. In front of him was his first proper sign of failure since the beginning of the expedition not so long ago. He refused to believe one of his friends had been obliterated so violently.

He exploded with visible fury, in the shape of a bright, white-hot and enflamed aura dancing around him.

_Yes! Let us show this flea-ridden mongrel the fury of the light! For CATHERINE! I'll butcher and eviscerate you into TINY LITTLE MORSELS!_

If it had been any other moment, Apollo would have been perturbed by the way he thought out his threat.

Turning to check up on the gunpowder, Apollo saw the paladin had returned with two big casks of it. Smiling momentarily at the way his plan was coming together; he nodded to Caelian and turned to Tirion.

"Fordring! Call all available deckhands and marksmen! I'll jump in the mouth of this beast – dump the sealed gunpowder with me!"

Without leaving them a moment to argue, he ran to the closest railing and somersaulted over it, diving straight into the waiting mouth of the kraken. With a maniacal grin, he put both hands on his axe and put all his strength behind them – the moment he was in range he slashed out in a circular motion around him, wrenching many of the monster's teeth from his mouth and cutting straight through its tough leathery hide. He steadied himself on the tongue and turned towards the ship to see the casks land right next to him. Thanking the light that his people had such good aim he got a wicked grin on his face and set both casks on fire.

_It'll take a while to burn through the wood, but when it does, oh fel, when it does, we're going to get some real fireworks!"_

He quickly chucked the two casks through the mouth further down the kraken's throat before tearing through the beast's mouth once more – _poor fool, thinking it could attack MY expedition and kill one of MINE!_

Jumping out into the water he gesticulated for one of the men above to drop him a line, but no one understood him. Getting frantic, as he could hear the kraken right behind him, he did the one thing he hoped would save him and his ship.

"I banish thee, creature of the deep, to thy rightful hearth!"

However, a simple substitution of wording will not get the desired effects; this was a prayer designed to work against demons or ghosts, both creatures that Lordaeron, and more importantly Tirisfal, were well acquainted with.

However, it worked halfway; he managed to push the kraken – tentacles and all – deeper into the sea, far away enough from the ship for there to be no collateral damage from the coming explosion.

And explode it did.

Realising the danger at the last second, Apollo had put up his paladin protection bubble – the divine shield – and survived through the blast wave that rippled underwater, only slightly disturbing the ships.

Five minutes later, he was back on deck with a pat on the back from Tirion and had begun healing the rest of the wounded.

**.oOo.**

They had signalled the other ships that they were fine – incidentally, one of the ships had received a shower of fleshy rain just after the explosion – and they had further noticed land in sight.

The Warriors of Light had finally reached the fabled continent of Kalimdor.

"Drop anchors, now! Listen up everyone. First mate Fitzgerald is going to take the Highlord and the paladins on a recon mission – we are in unchartered territory, and we have no idea about natives of any sort, so I order everyone to proceed with caution! The dwarves have worked with the archmages of Dalaran to create these live-feed communication devices – I suggest you keep them close at hand."

The captain took a deep breath before continuing.

"So I repeat, proceed with the utmost caution – these are unfamiliar lands, and the Highlord has been extremely keen in his orders that all people should be careful and that everyone should stay out of danger. We have a 'no soldier left behind' policy that you should all adhere to; I don't care if the full might of the Orcish Horde is at your tail, you will _not_ leave any man, woman or child behind. Understood? Good."

The boat, having been lowered while the captain was talking, was now fully loaded with people and ready to go. As soon as they reached the shore, everyone jumped out of it, not wanting to stay behind and possibly endanger the group by being seen. The first mate shouldered his scoped gun and kept his mini-blunderbuss tied back to the belt, near his dagger-sheath. Apollo himself readied his shield and shortsword – the shield would be good for giving extra protection to him and his allies while his glaive would keep anything from getting too close, beast or foe. Around him, Tirion and Caelian unsheathed their respective twohanders, while Priestess Alana began murmuring her prayers to empower the group and protect them if necessary.

Fitzgerald broke up the group into two teams – the marksmen were going to scout ahead; due to their light gear they were very nimble and could move extremely quickly – while the more heavily geared team would tag behind, ready to run in and give support to the scouts should they encounter any real difficulty.

Their landing beach was filled with local fauna, but they could not identify and group of natives – humanoid or otherwise – and so they decided set up their base on the overlooking hills and mountains. The position was very defensible, surrounded by a very dense forest on the western side, on lower ground; it was a clearing of even ground with very little green and overlooked the great sea that they had travelled on. There seemed to be a cave a good distance away, seemingly naturally formed into the steep mountainside; it was an avenue to explore should any underground network be found, especially if it could double as an escape route should the base come under siege.

Fitzgerald turned to Apollo and nodded before firing up his arcane-powered communications device and addressing the other two ships, which held the cargo required to jumpstart building the base. After that had been cleared, he turned to address the scouts.

"Marksman Fillers, Soldier Travers, approach that cave and oust whatever beast is inside; once you're done, let us know and we'll bring the mana-wielders among us from the ships to set up a tunnel periscope to check the interior. If you get lost, once again, give us a call and we'll come get you. Now move!"

"Sir! Yes, sir!"

While the group was waiting for the ships to unload, Apollo decided to climb to the top of the closest peak to build a beacon of sorts for security purposes. He trudged on in the direction of the two scouts, climbing higher and higher, weaving through the rocky surfaces until he stopped dead, aghast at the sight before him.

Less than twenty feet away, on the cliffs below, a gigantic tarantula was having a crocodile meal while two more were battling for a second carcass. Realizing that he had not been spotted, he decided to not disturb them and instead followed the webbed trail back up – to another entrance of the cave where they'd sent the two scouts not an hour beforehand.

He fumbled with the comms device he had been given and let the group behind know that the scouts were possible in danger and that he was going in, without support as there was little time. Fitzgerald was close to biting his fingernails in concern as he sent out heavy-geared support from the ships to help with the rescue mission.

Meanwhile, Apollo had entered the lair of the giant spiders and was slaying them left and right – he could hear a struggle of sorts was taking place up ahead, which only served to double his efforts to try and get there quicker. Mentally noting to berate the two scouts for pressing onwards when they could obviously see the danger, he stumbled upon an interesting sight.

A very beautiful, purple-skinned humanoid woman, similar to the high elves in form and shape, was battling against the biggest tarantula in the cave.

Unfortunately, his pause nearly cost him his life, and most certainly cost him his advantage.

"Who are you, stranger?"

"I –"

"Well whoever you are, don't just stand there, try and get Mother Eight-Legs from behind!"

"Yes – of course, I..."

Deciding that talking wasn't going to help the situation one bit, he quickly jumped on a nearby ledge and began banging his sword against his shield – a very effective taunt.

Mother Eight-Legs spun around and crawled over to him, furiously clicking her pincers at the thought of more fresh meals. Just as she reached him, though, Apollo bathed himself in light and started to shine brighter and brighter.

"Night elf! Cover your eyes! Open them again in exactly five seconds!"

Thankfully, she didn't question his orders and simply complied with them. She was rewarded moments later with a blind opponent, and dispatching it took just a few more moments.

Having finished with it, she turned to Apollo.

"Now, stranger, tell me who you are, for I know very few foreigners speak the language of the Kal'dorei, and I know each and every one of them personally. So, who are you?"

"My name, _stranger_, is Apollo of the Light. I am from the Eastern Kingdoms, and we have set up a town here to escape the boredom of life back home. We are warriors of light, and as such we will fight for any just cause, with proper incentive, of course."

The Night Elf sneered in disgust.

"Another human who thinks the world owes them. You claim to be of the light, warriors, even, but all I see is a man alone and unprepared to face the wilds of Kalimdor, especially Dustwallow Marsh, where you now find yourself. Go home, Apollo of the Light, run back to your mother."

At any other point of time, Apollo would have duelled the offender for such an insult. Now, however, he simply tilted his head.

"You do not believe me. Very well, then. Let us see how well the priests have managed to teach me. I –"

"The priests? Please, do not make me laugh. Elune would never answer to you, pretender."

"I never claimed to answer to Elune, nor have Elune answer to me."

The Night Elf huffed.

"This is getting us nowhere. I am overdue back to my base, and you are obviously an idiot with a death wish. Still, I wish you luck, Apollo of the Light, that you may survive long enough here to reach the Barrens."

She turned, about to go away, when she remembered something.

"Oh, and I freed two of your men just a while ago. You are all fools, but if you do ever come to Feralas, stop by the Feathermoon Stronghold, and ask for Shandriss. I'll test your mettle _then._"

**.oOo.**

"I have been given a decree by King Terenas Menethil the Second: while in Kalimdor, if you wish to be under Tirisfalian Justice, you _will_ answer to Highlord Apollo of the Light, and at _all _times, no exceptions. This is not a matter up for debate, and you will find the Highlord's jurisprudence exemplary and unbiased. I wish all at Light's Watch the very best. TO US!"

Fordring's toast was approved by everyone, and it was time for him to return, as he made known to Apollo. He was there for the preliminary parts – setting up the base, the docks, and a lighthouse. The other defensive structures would be built in time by the citizens, but his work was done, and he had to return to Uther.

The two mages that had come with the expedition had already managed to establish a one-way portal to Lordaeron, and Tirion would be taking it, along with several of the communications devices, reserved exclusively for any ships travelling to Light's Watch in Dustwallow Marsh, so as to help them navigate once they were past the Maelstrom, halfway from both continents. The devices were unfortunately useless beyond half a continent away, even though that was a remarkable achievement in itself; and Tirion would be working with cartographers and Dalaran mages to approximate their landing beach and possible portal point. It was all a very delicate matter, especially seeing as how crucial communication between the two continents would be.

"Farewell, Tirion Fordring. I trust you will deal with the priests over the tragedy that occurred on the way here?"

"I... you... yes, yes I will." He leaned forward and whispered in Apollo's ear just afterwards, though, "But you owe me."

As evening drew, the gales of laughter were winding down, and the general cheerfulness gave way to a slight sense of nervousness and anxiety as the proud denizens of Light's Watch realized that their hunt on the new land had begun.

The next morning, an urgent missive was received from Lordaeron. Apparently, King Terenas had learned that the expedition had reached and commanded all available mages to work on a portal system that would allow them to port to the attuned room back in Light's Watch. When informed of the news from the messenger, Apollo read the accompanying letters began to laugh to laugh at the second one.

His guards came into the room to see what was so entertaining after a minute of hilarity from their Highlord, and when they read the letter they themselves could barely restrain their grins.

Arthas had thrown a fit and wanted to see Apollo, in the middle of his father's court, and had been punished severely by his father.

He was asking Apollo to come and save him from being confined to the stables.

"Alright, enough! Let's get on with the day's duties, shall we?"

"Sir!"

"Yes, Sir!"

So the day continued with Apollo overseeing the different construction projects while the High Elf Paladin with him began filling in as registrar for the expedition's different needs and manpower. He was subsequently declared quartermaster by Apollo, something he was not very glad of, but understood the requirements and the need for such a position.

At the end of the day, in the commander's quarters, Apollo sat down on his bed and smiled maliciously.

He was a large step closer to accomplishing his goals, and Arthas would play a pivotal role in them.

At least, according to that soft voice in his head.

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**Well, this is it, chapter two revamped and completed.**

**I recognize the fact that some of you may have expected a better narrative while recounting the two fight scenes, or even at the very least a shift from my general third person view of things – after all, action and adventure are often better done from a first person perspective.**

**If you have any improvements that you consider extremely necessary, I'll adjust this accordingly, provided they are reasonable.**

**I would also like to address a word of apology to all of you: I was supposed to have had this up two weeks ago – after my return from Ios, Greece.**

**However, being the procrastinating fat arse that I am, I only really got around to doing it now – and as such my update schedule has been completely messed up. I'll rework it and see to putting up the chapters when I claim I'm going to be delivering them – none of this lazing around business any more.**

**Cheers, and please, send me PMs or Reviews – I'll try to address all of your concerns.**

**POLL IS UP!**


	3. Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon

**A/N: Hey folks!**

**I realize this is a couple of days late, but no one ever accused me of being on time, ever.**

**Besides, I hit blocks at many turns during this narrative, so excuse my writing.**

**As always, this is fresh, unbeta'd (unfortunately) and off the top of my head (somewhat). **

**POLL WILL BE OPEN TILL I POST NEXT CHAPTER. This means after posting it, the results of the poll should be visible to all.**

**I hope you enjoy the following chapter. I would ask you to give it a chance and read **_**all the way through**_** before giving up. (If you do, do so at the end, and leave a review why).**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Done previously. For your benefit, this story is best read in a ¾ format.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon**

Apollo's power was slowly lessening. It was not noticeable at first, but after a month back at Light's Watch after a scouting expedition, he determined he had lost some strength behind his Divine Blasts. He tried to identify just by himself what was happening; after all, he couldn't inform the citizens of Light's Watch without running the risk of panic and low morale. Already, his judicious usage of blasting holy light from his hands to acts as a personal torch had had its range reduced by ten percent, and would now only work up to three hundred yards away. **(A/N To those of you who play the game: NERFS INCOMING)**. He mentally swore; he needed to find Aegwynn quickly, but he could not do anything till the all the ongoing constructions were complete.

There was very little in the way of progress for him and his fellow denizens in terms of building the defensive structures as most of the masons and workers were the soldiers, marksmen and priests that he had brought along with him as colonists. The outpost was being built one brick after another, one wall at a time, a testament to the patience and willpower of the few. The first few weeks Apollo had lead scouting parties into the actual marsh in hopes of discovering usable land tracks to create paths out of; to create a safe passage through the hot and oppressive marsh. It was on one of these sorties that he had first encountered ghostly spirits and banshees, things that the members of the Order of the Silver Hand were experts at banishing or exorcising or just simply setting free. Apollo had then been accompanied by Caelian, who had suggested that Apollo overwhelm them with his manipulation of light and that Caelian would absolve them and set their spirits free in an attempt to learn what had transgressed the sanctity of the afterlife to curse them so.

The banshees were in fact fallen warriors and spirits, manipulated by an outlawed Tauren tribe, the Grimtotem, a race of gigantic bull-headed humanoids, easily twice as large as most humans. Apollo himself had been shocked but at the same time he was very glad; he had not expected to meet the natives for a while, and apart from the beautiful Night Elf Shandris, he had not had any exposure to the natives of Kalimdor. He was saddened by the fact that their seemed to be a warlike tribe not too far from them, but in his heart he was happy to know that their own race had exiled them, meaning they must be peaceful by nature and do not encourage necromantic practices. There was little reason to believe that should he meet one of them, they would trust him implicitly, _but then, that's what our manipulation of the light is for,_ he thought smugly.

Another important discovery had been the result of a very similar accident, and Apollo believed he had gotten the better deal out of the situation, with a couple of two-ton, fleet-footed battle grunts at his beck and call. It had begun when he had decided to take a break after a frustrating morning's work, and stepped outside to check on his steed. He could feel the horse being jumpy and excited, though he couldn't understand why, so he had taken it out for a quick trot around the base. As soon as he had left the vicinity of Light's Watch, though, his stallion sped frantically towards a destination known only to itself, forcing Apollo to hold on tightly, cursing at his unruly steed.

The wild ride had lasted for a quite a while before Apollo was forced to duck to the side due to a low branch, and unfortunately for him, it was at that exact moment that his horse switched directions, causing him to go flying off towards the rock hard ground. He landed with a wince, before he took in his surroundings, and doubled-back in shock.

Black Dragons.

Honest to Light, black-scaled dragon whelps, and a couple juvenile ones.

He quickly tried to edge away in a quiet fashion, fearing any encounter with one of them, but alas, luck was not with him. A firemane wyrmkin had spotted him, and had begun running towards him at full speed on four legs, barely able to contain its rage.

Dropping all pretence of stealth, Apollo turned to run away only to hit against a hard, leathery surface.

"Oh fel. I'm screwed."

The leathery hard surface happened to be the left wing of a fierce-looking black drake, which looked at his eyes for a moment without doing anything. Apollo felt a piercing gaze searching him, and he gained strength from it and refused to back down. Instead, he brought out the glow in his eyes to shine brighter than anything in the region, nearly blinding the drake. Predictably, it snarled and was about to rip off Apollo's head before his quick thinking saved his hide, once again.

"Take me to your – queen, dragon. I come bearing glad tidings for you and your kind from humans!"

The drake snarled once again before roaring out his answer.

"You lie, fiend! No mortal such as you knows our tongue – from which flight are you, trickster? I do not care for the intricacies of diplomacy; I will rip you to shreds if you keep lying. SPEAK!"

"I swear by the Light, Shadows, Old Gods, and Titans alike! I am no mortal, but I speak for them!"

The black drake paused at that and brought his snout close to Apollo's face. He stared at him intently before sniffing him.

"You ... do not reek of human flesh, yet you are far too human to be an elemental or a demon. What are you, stranger? And why should I, one of Onyxia's own, allow you to see the broodmother?"

Apollo was sweating now – he could sense he had escaped a bloody end, but he did not have a real contingency plan for something like this. He hoped his ability with the light would be enough to sway this ... Onyxia.

"I have come from the humans who have set up a base at the northern shores of this marsh, and as their leader, I have taken upon myself the decision to ally ourselves with you. What I bring with me is knowledge, priceless knowledge; I would be able to greatly increase the numbers of your ... flight."

Apollo paused, unsure of how black dragons treated each other, and whether or not they wished for the salvation of their own race in the same way that others did. Apparently, he had chosen correctly.

The sneer that broke on the dragon's face convinced him that he hadn't committed a faux pas. He suspected, had he been wrong, he would have received a more aggressive response.

"And what would a lesser being such as _you_ be able to teach _us_? What makes you think you have what we need?"

Apollo was about to reply when he noticed a certain feature on the black drake's face that he recognized; this was a test, to see if he would blabber everything to the first person he met, or if he truly had a spine and wasn't afraid to deal with people his own way. He cursed inwardly before snapping at the dragon, much to its amusement.

"Enough! This is a conversation meant for the ears of the broodmother, not one such as _you_! I refuse to deal with an underling."

Apollo heard several of the surrounding firemane wyrmkins snarl at that, and wondered if he'd gone too far before a deep rumbling broke his train of thought.

The dragon was laughing.

"Very well, not-mortal, we shall see what _the Queen_ has to say about this." He laughed deeply again at the end and motioned for the surrounding creatures to disperse while he picked up Apollo by his armour, before calming the latter.

"Do not fidget, not-mortal, this is for your own protection. My brothers and sisters would otherwise eat you alive. You would also be hard-pressed to enter the Broodmother's lair without a guide _and_ survive the trip down."

Apollo calmed a little at hearing this before he tensed up again. He saw they were closing up to a cave very quickly, one which looked like it had a giant red-tinted claw jutting out of the ground, guarding the entrance. The black drake flew down and scratched it, causing it to slide back into the ground, and flew into the lair with Apollo in his grasp. They flew over many armed forces, and Apollo was extremely glad he had managed to avoid trouble with the black dragons so far. As he alighted near the entrance to a massive cavern, two wyrmkin guards interrupted him.

"Brimgore! What is the meaning of this? Who is this mortal and why is he here?"

Apollo mentally filed away the drake's name before deciding to keep his mouth shut until he faced Onyxia.

"This is no mortal, brothers, smell him yourself. He claims he brings important tidings for the broodmother. Also – he manipulates _Light_."

The disbelief on both wyrmkins' faces told Apollo all he needed to know, and he gingerly stepped forward to allow himself to be 'identified'. Moments later, the guards stepped back, seemingly satisfied with him, and told Brimgore that he could return to his post above ground; they would bring the _not-mortal_ to Onyxia.

The walk was short; the shoving reduced to a bare minimum, and before long Apollo found himself in front of a gigantic black dragon. _Let the games begin._

"Greetings, Lady Onyxia. I am Highlord Apollo of the Light, and I've come here requesting an alliance with you."

The Broodmother looked at the two wyrmkin guards who nodded to her before turning a curious gaze on him.

"You should be careful what you wish for, _Anima Pietates_." Here she took in Apollo's incredulous look before continuing, "Oh don't look so surprised. I am the firstborn daughter of Neltharion, the Earthwarder. I have deeper connections with everything in existence than you can fathom. I can tell you have the same immortality as those elves. However, you seem ... different. Explain yourself, Highlord of the Light, and do so _now._"

"I am but a mere ... I ..." He couldn't help but stutter over himself; he wasn't sure how to explain his dilemma, especially since he _knew_ he should not trust any outsider with his personal information. Then again, the heir of a dragonflight is not just any title, either.

Onyxia, though, didn't have much patience. "Out with it, and preferably _now_. I don't have all day for the likes of you."

"Yes, of course. You see, I was caught in an unfortunate blast that shattered my soul in two, and since then I have been trying to find my ... other half, quite literally. During my ... travels ... I became a paladin, and due to my – If I may be so bold – exceptional mastery over the light I was granted permission to spearhead any human presence on this continent."

As he paused here, Onyxia snorted and the flames nearly singed his hair off. He immediately continued with his plea.

"After we landed here and set up a base here, I took it upon myself to find us – work, after a fashion. You see, we are mercenaries, 'Warriors of Light'. As you might think, mercenaries are only hired with proper credentials, and since we have no way of acquiring credentials on this continent, I was looking to find some ... _sponsors._"

Onyxia mused for a moment, deliberating with a soft rumble while Apollo waited nervously.

"And what can _you_, Apollo, do for me that would justify 'spreading the word'?"

Apollo regained a bit of his confidence and replied.

"Milady, if you were to lead me to your eggs, I could ensure all of them to grow to young whelps in a safe manner. I swear by all that is Holy that I mean no harm."

Onyxia pondered for a moment before beckoning him forward, and brought him up to a single, damaged looking egg of hers.

"If you can do as you say, immortal, I will see if I decide to help you or not."

Apollo had half a mind to back out of such a dubious deal, but then realized it would not be worth the effort to get out of the lair alive. So, having reached a decision, he turned to the egg and sent a softly shining ray of light towards the egg, wrapping it in a cocoon. Both entities present watch how, over the next half-minute the egg seemed to _heal_ and grow translucent, allowing them unrestricted access to view the insides.

It was mesmerizing.

The small embryo was developing extremely quickly, tiny wings developing from its back, a tail growing longer and longer until it wrapped the small whelp protectively, and a small tooth grew on its nose as it finished growing and began cracking the eggshell in an effort to get out.

And so, after the half minute passed, a strong and healthy looking black dragon whelp croaked out to them, obviously happy at his successful efforts.

Apollo turned to Onyxia only to see a rare sight. A single tear glistened in the eye that he could see, as her head was slanted away from him. He gently patted Onyxia's right wing.

"Would you allow me to do the same, for the rest of your whe—children? I would do it as a gesture of good faith and hope for my alliance with you."

It was distracting to hear Onyxia laugh while she tried to look stern and grateful at the same time. The laughter he had mistaken for a growl had caused her much amusement the first time, and he didn't intend to make a fool of himself twice.

Enquiring as to her amusement this time, though, he received an answer that sent chills down his spine.

"I told you before to be careful what you wish for. We dragons tend to interpret words and meanings differently, and by sealing our agreement, you have agreed to our interpretation of it, not yours, even if unwittingly."

Apollo could feel the sweat dripping from his face; he had no clue what her meaning would entail, and he quickly decided to act; a benevolent act might reduce the chance that Onyxia would wish to harm him. Therefore, without letting her continue, Apollo walked over to the other eggs and exerted his will upon the light on them. Onyxia gazed intently towards him, as if debating something of great importance, before the groans and growls of all the whelps in her current batch seemingly made up her mind.

"I will have you know, Apollo of the Light, that dragons do not marry. Yes, we have mates, for life, consorts, and the like, but marriage is an institution unbecoming for us to follow. However, _in light_ of recent events, I have decided to make an exception, of sorts. You have repeatedly asked for an alliance with me," here Onyxia paused, and Apollo's face went pale. He had not envisaged this possibility at all. Thankfully, Onyxia decided to bring him out of his torment, "and I have decided that since I have no consort, you will be mine."

Not that it really brought him out of any torment.

Onyxia chuckled at Apollo's pale and terrified face, before continuing. "Oh don't worry, you silly little immortal. It is merely a title; it will fool others into thinking you as my mate. We will most certainly _not_ have to go into the details."

Slowly, what she was trying to explain dawned upon him. As Consort of the Broodmother, he would have the allegiance of black dragons everywhere. He stopped himself short at her next words.

"Though it's a pity you don't have a dragon form."

After another chuckle at his expense, she settled down.

"You have earned my favour, immortal; it would however be wise not to flaunt. The repercussions could be disastrous for both of us, you more so than me." Onyxia ushered him towards the exit of her egg-chamber, stopping just before the wyrmkin guards. "I will be seeing you soon. Here is my insignia, Consort. _Use it well._"

The two wyrmkin guards looked baffled that he had received this particular insignia and as soon as the Broodmother had left, they bowed to him before escorting him back to the upper reaches.

At the mouth of _his_ Queen's lair, they parted ways, while Brimgore arrived with a horse in his clutches. Seeing as word about his status had spread so quickly, Apollo acknowledged him with a nod instead of bothering to bring out his insignia, and took the frightened horse from his claws and calmed it with soothing blankets of light.

Turning his head to Brimgore, he nodded and mounted his stallion, riding back to base.

After his return, during the communal dinner, Apollo noticed a very flushed looking Nixondra giving a look that vacillated between shock and awe. He decided not to question it, figuring if she had somehow figured out the insignia of the Black Dragonflight and still kept her mouth shut, she would be a very dependable person.

**.oOo.**

The loss in power was slowing. Slowed to a stop, in fact, but due to Apollo's nature, he wasn't quite sure how much power he had lost in the process, as he was used to power rolling off of him in waves. He decided that it had something to do with the darker side of him that slowly manifested itself in his thoughts. He was not able to always differentiate when he was in that state, as everything seemed too get its roots from his righteousness, but Apollo could feel that something was off.

More importantly, he could feel the darker voice second-guessing his decisions, especially the more merciful actions. Just that morning, he had sent one of the marksmen to bring him a hound that had been causing them problems; apparently it was turning mad. He told them he would heal it, while in reality he was debating whether or not he should put it down in a painful manner.

After all, it did try to attack one of the high elf rangers he had brought with him, and almost succeeded in ripping her head off by pouncing on it before he stepped in. _No one, no single thing touched what was his._

An intriguing consequence of that act, however, was that the ranger swore her undying loyalty to him and requested to be part of his personal guard. Not really knowing what else to do, he had complied with her wishes.

The real trouble, though, was trying to figure what way causing his aggressive persona to manifest itself at these times. While mulling over it, he cursed. The long instance of soul-body-mind searching had helped him figure out the problem. The only thing that had changed in the past twelve years, really, was that he now carried the Barrows Edict. It had to be the talisman that was causing him to do this; he suspected it had something to do with the slight loss of power, too, though that was most likely related to the fact that since he didn't have a set lifespan, the talisman absorbed his energy to create the barriers around whichever Old God was remained trapped inside.

The situation, however, he could feel deteriorating; after all, a full two years had passed, and times change things. He needed to find Magna Aegwynn, and he needed to have done that as soon as he had landed on Kalimdor. Having actually taken his duties seriously, though, he had fallen behind on his personal quest for knowledge and assistance. What had been an outpost, then a small base, was now a fortified town with all of a town's necessities: a fortress, a dock, a town hall, various hamlets moderately spaced apart, stables, etc. Thankfully, enough time had passed that he could begin his personal odyssey and leave someone competent in charge till he returned.

It was a good thing that Caelian was in a happy mood when he went to visit him, because when he had finished the yelps of pain from Apollo told him he would have ended up in worse shape had he approached his friend at the wrong time.

"Why, oh Fel why did I accept to go with you, you ignoble excuse of a ... gah!"

Apollo responded with a slight grin on his face. "So, you'll do it?"

Caelian sent him a glare, but to be honest Apollo had faced far worse and knew it wasn't really intended. "Yes of course I'll do it. You're the Highlord of the Light, and I am but a dutiful paladin." He said mockingly, but with a slight smile.

"Perfect! Don't worry, though, you'll have _High Priestess_ Nixondra help you out with everything. You four are my advisors, and as such I expect you to be good regents, as well."

Caelian took the information in, before he frowned. "What about Alana? Won't she be here?"

"Unfortunately, no, I have need of her. Since we need to be furtive I'll only be taking myself and two others, and Alana is one of them."

Caelian nodded, before looking expectantly at him. Apollo grimaced, but continued. "And of course, Anya Eversong. That girl won't ever leave me alone again, if she can help it, I think."

"Well, she did sort of swear her undying loyalty to you, personally." His snickers went ignored, and instead Apollo turned to him with different directives to follow for different eventualities.

The next morning, Anya, Alana and Apollo left on three scout's light horses towards the north, rumoured to be the last place anyone had seen Aegwynn, though neither of the two companions knew that. After all, since Basilan _had _asked him to keep the talisman safe from everyone, he wasn't just about to tell everyone about it, even if he trusted them. With Nixondra at the head of the Church of Light in Kalimdor, everyone was ready to wave them goodbye. With Caelian's blessings, the three set out on their way to get find the fabled last guardian of Tirisfal.

**.oOo.**

Back in Lordaeron, troubles were brewing. A new occult sect had surfaced, one that had very disturbing views about what should and shouldn't be. It seemed that the demons and Nathrezim had a far more persistent presence on Azeroth than previously thought of, because the Cult of the Damned was their creation.

The High Elves of Silvermoon, the Human kingdoms of Lordaeron and Stormwind; all kingdoms were plagued by whispers of this Cult, and King Terenas the Second outlawed its presence anywhere near civilization. Already, Uther and his Order, Jaina and the mages, Sylvanas and her rangers, all were drafted into securing information about the Cult, and if possible, to dismantle it in any way they could. The Cult of the Damned had, after all, introduced the evil that was the undead scourge to Azeroth. Small townships and scattered peasants across the land, under the sway of the cult, had been turned into hideous monstrosities that killed without discrimination, murdered without regret, and fought with no knowledge of self. It seemed that all undead were under the control of higher powers, as they worked with a hive mind, but Uther and the Order of the Silver Hand had quickly established that the Nathrezim were behind the undead.

It was hard to distinguish who became an undead, especially how it happened, given that there were generally no survivors, and the few survivors had to fight their families to escape a horrifying death themselves. So far, very few help had been reaching those who needed it, and the general populace was furious. The times were changing, and the winds of war were gathering.

Already the outer regions of Tirisfal, the ones near Hillsbrad and Alterac, were under continuous assault from the undead. This plague, this ... scourge was endless, using fallen soldiers to fight for their own cause, and not even a second death would keep them at bay if a necromancer were to be near.

The conflict was escalating quickly, and the fury of the divine warriors did little to stem the advance of the undead legions. The situation was coming to be nigh on helpless. Already, reports were coming in of patrols being assaulted with overwhelming numbers, and the fact that there were undead who were still easily identifiable meant that some fighters faced their families in a struggle for life, and morale always ran low.

The few elite units within the Tirisfalian Army were ill-equipped to deal with this new threat to the kingdom. Sylvanas and her Farstriders were already taking out whatever undead scourge they could when acting as support groups to the human shock troopers, but it was never enough. The Cult of the Damned was still growing strong, slowly but surely, and disaster was everywhere. Finally, Terenas recognized that Alexandros Mograine's sword, the purified Ashbringer, was a marvel at burning undead, and thus similarly, Apollo would be of great help in these situations. Arthas had wanted to send for him immediately, as he sorely missed his brother-in-arms and best friend, but Terenas knew that Apollo's expedition was not something to take lightly, and forcing the mages to port Apollo back due to an embarrassingly tenacious problem would just hinder the progression of human domination of Azeroth.

Then again, a King must _have_ subjects to rule, and the simple truth was that he was in danger of not having any subjects left, soon. With a scowl, Terenas made up his mind. The warning of the raven druid still rang in his ears. He had suspicions that it may have been a Dalaran mage, but something told him they were not behind it; besides, it would have been pointless for them to do so in such a roundabout fashion.

There was a slight problem with summoning Apollo, though. Their communication devices had been broken due to some hot-headed argument between father and son, and the only way to communicate them left to the Tirisfalians was to travel through hostile territory, east of the bulwark, and find help at the town of Hearthglen. Prince Arthas needed to go on the journey, as they were short on messengers and could not hope that a scout would go through or keep failing and falling to the undead of the area. Already, a vile plague permeated the land itself, and nature itself was diseased; the only way to be certain that a message would go through would be to use a sizeable contingent of soldiers to fight through to Hearthglen, where the paladin Tirion Fordring had set up a standalone device which was powered by _faith_. Uther, Arthas, and several more of the experienced holy warriors set out on the mission, with the blessing of their king and people.

Unfortunately for them, word had spread beforehand of the Prince's journey through the Cult of the Damned, and the undead scourge would never let an attempt which carried the hope and blessings of half of Tirisfal go unpunished. As the bulky heavy cavalry and paladins neared Andorhal, they were faced with their hardest challenges yet; a necromancer and undead by the dozens. The lead paladin paused, and with him, everyone in his procession, just as the necromancer sent the undead to stand in front of him as skeletal guards. Taking a deep breath, Uther Lightbringer gathered huge swathes of Light and unleashed them on his unholy enemies, incinerating a score and blasting the rest back.

"FOR THE MIGHT OF MENETHIL! CHARGE!"

The necromancer lich responded in turn, and after a brutal but mercifully short battle, all of the undead lay in ashes on the ground while the necromancer shimmered and disappeared to reveal just a shade, while the humans had lost a single horse, the rider having been knocked off by a Morningstar.

"Enough, we are wasting precious time – get a mage and inform Sylvanas and Jaina that Apollo is coming – they'll want to be there." Arthas commanded before heading north for Hearthglen.

**.oOo.**

"You want me to WHAT? Arthas, what is it, how did this go on without my—our knowledge? It so happens I left this morning on a mission – I cannot ..."

"Apollo, you swore an oath to your King. You stated you would answer a call from home, no matter the cost, especially if the cause is a _threat to the kingdom_! You cannot go back on your word _now_, of all times. Besides, Jaina and Sylvanas are coming to meet with you and decide the best course of action for us to take."

Apollo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before addressing his companions.

"Alana, Anya, turn around. It seems the homeland is in peril, and we _must_ answer the call."

"Yes, milord."

Arthas had heard the exchange with a quirked up eyebrow, but didn't comment any further. He was getting his friends together in one place, and _nothing_ could withstand their might; _that_ he was sure of. Life was looking up.

"Oh, and Arthas?"

"Yes, Apollo?"

"Wipe that smirk off your face."

"Yes, Apollo." Arthas replied with a chuckle.

The journey back did not take long; Apollo had not gone far enough for it to last more than an hour. As soon as they re-entered Light's Watch, a bewildered Caelian came up to greet them.

"Forgot something?"

"Yeah. We're bound to Lordaeron by oath, and none of us will ever be called oathbreaker, if I can help it."

At his puzzled face, Apollo continued.

"Gather a fifth of our standing army. We're needed back home."

Caelian gaped for a moment before yelling orders to nearby guards, calling the required amount of troops to be ready to head for the portals. When he turned back to Apollo, he noticed him shooing Alana away along with Anya, who looked slightly peeved about it.

"Apollo, I'll meet you at the mage tower, another hour for the troops to gear up."

"Done."

Apollo dismounted and began to head for the church; he needed a message relayed to his Queen that he would not be around for the next month, if not more. Thankfully he chanced upon Nixondra on her way out of the church, having heard of his impromptu return.

"Ah, Nixondra, I'd like a word with you, please. In private."

"Certainly, milord."

Heading for one of the side rooms, they bolted the door shut and began talking.

"Nixondra, I need to get word out my consort. Tell her I'm being recalled to fight against the undead legions that the Nathrezim have created."

"What! But who will look after the new batches, and ... Milord, let me say this freely, Onyxia has only been kinder since you've become her consort. She is still strong, but she is much more tempered, if you leave ..."

"Don't. I need to do this, lest I be called liar. Also, the previous orders still stand – you'll be regent along with Caelian. I cannot bring you back with me—"

"Milord, no! The Broodmother would have my head if she knew that I let _her consort_ leave for war unprotected! Actually, I'm not even sure she wouldn't force the mages here to port _her_ after you!"

"Well, you're facing some challenges then, aren't you?" Apollo finished with a smirk.

Leaving Nixondra groaning behind, Apollo made his way towards the mage tower, only to be accosted by Anya Eversong once again.

"Milord, I _swore_ I would give my life for you. You _cannot_ keep me from my oath, I beg you!"

Giving a long-drawn sigh, Apollo acquiesced and told her to get in line for the port.

In the end, thirty odd veterans made their way to the port, Apollo and Anya included, and waited for the mages to open the gate to the Eastern Kingdoms.

**.oOo.**

"Oh, hello Ranger-General Windrunner; I did not expect to see you here."

"Greetings, Mr. Proudmoore. I trust you had a comfortable journey here."

"Yes, quite, thank you very much. I assume you're waiting for Apollo and Arthas?"

"Yes, I'm waiting for Apollo to return from across the sea."

That statement rung in her ears like a bell. Sylvanas Windrunner was obviously infatuated with _her_ friend Apollo, or at the very least the two had some sort of connection. She fumed inwardly at the thought before wondering about how Apollo was doing and whether he was safe. It had been a good two years that he had left, and his return, though temporary, would definitely help lighten spirits. She _had_ missed her friend dearly.

Besides, the situation had worsened enough that they _needed_ his help. Sylvanas could attest to that – she had after all begged her king to be allowed to fight against the Nathrezim _before_ they sent their undead plague across to the high elves.

Arthas was the first to turn up, and he greeted both his friends charmingly, before bickering with Sylvanas about his combat prowess and the conversation degenerated into little more than bickering from then on. Uther Lightbringer arrived shortly after he did, and they all waited for Apollo and the few guards he would bring with him in murmurs.

Thankfully, the wait was not long, and their patience was rewarded. It seemed Apollo had managed to return as quickly as he could to Light's Watch, and the guards had more or less been prepared to deal with any situation when they had been called to port back. When they first saw the total number of people that came through the portal, Arthas scowled.

"Really? Two years and _this_ is what you have to show for it?"

"Shut up, your highness."

That sent the four friends in fits of laughter, though it was slightly more reserved on Sylvanas' part. Uther's mouth twitched but he said nothing, instead striding out after giving a brief but meaningful and respectful nod to his paladins.

They exited the mage portal exit area and drew up to a nearby command tent, where the battle plans where being drawn up.

"Alright, Arthas, you weren't very clear on the message. What sort of numbers are we fighting here, what are their spread, their leaders ... in short what do we know of our enemies?"

Arthas was slightly embarrassed. "Actually, we know very little, other than the fact that for every one of our men that fall, if there's a necromancer in the opposing army, many more rise up to bolster our enemies' forces."

The long discussion that followed was empty of blame and disregarded failures or lapses in judgement being pointed out, and Arthas especially was very grateful for it. The Prince had tempered down his arrogance, having grown up alongside a figure like Apollo.

Jaina gave them special information they could not afford to ignore, though.

"Though we're not quite sure how the plague is spread, one of our intelligence department heads has an idea."

"Oh? Please, do tell, we may yet be able to save the land."

"My thought exactly. She suggests that we check our supplies for corrupted resources, things that we either come in contact with a lot or—"

Sylvanas cut her off there. "You mean such as the food we eat?"

That had them all dumbstruck. The idea made so much sense; just because something looked alright did not mean the lower levels weren't hiding the plague in them, and this could have been especially true of the sacks that carried the food into the cities.

Out of all of them, though, Arthas paled the most.

"Oh Light, no!"

"What is it?"

"We just sent a huge shipment of grain to buoy one of our cities and to save them from starvation – it was meant so that they would be able to withstand a siege."

The petrified look on Jaina's face foreshadowed his next words. "This would have been very easy for the Cult of the Damned to poison. We didn't give much thought to the food, only bolstered the convoy with lots of guards. If some of the guards hid their true allegiance ..."

"Okay, we don't have too much time for this. Which city is this?" The sense of urgency in Apollo's tone was mirrored on everyone's face.

"Stratholme. Kel'Thuzad mentioned the dreadlord Mal'Ganis with his dying breath, but I didn't take him seriously; Light, Stratholme will be his victim!"

The petrified look on Sylvanas' face didn't make much sense to Apollo, not after what he knew about her, so he looked at her questioningly. With a halting voice, she elaborated.

"I sent the rest of my Farstriders and rangers to rest and recuperate in Stratholme ... if what Arthas says is true, they might already have the shipment and have eaten from it ..."

That jumpstarted everyone into action; Apollo yelled at Anya to come forward and speak to Sylvanas about some way to alert her rangers, Arthas gathered Uther and some of the paladins to ready for riding, Jaina began casting the incantation for a scrying spell and a communication spell. Sylvanas beckoned at her and threw her a small brooch trinket that she caught, nodded back, and finished the incantation while Anya began firing off in rapid Thalassian arguments between her and the ranger-general before finally bowing her head in defeat and setting off to find her mount.

Apollo busied himself with bolstering everyone in the group with his holy aura and mounted his horse, readying for combat if Stratholme were to be already infected while Jaina followed. Sylvanas yelled at her rangers through the scrying spell before heaving a relieved sigh, indicating that her rangers weren't infected, but then showing a tense face once again. She ended the spell before turning to the others, a heavy look about her face that they all understood to mean that some people had already taken the food.

"We have no more time left, if some are condemned to this inhumanity, I'll do the utmost to ensure they survive with sound mind, if not body. Let's go!"

At Apollo's words, everyone rode out, even if Arthas felt a bit miffed at having been overruled by his friend.

When they arrived at Stratholme, they realized the situation was much worse than they had previously thought. Apparently some of the paladins present inside the city belonging to the faction of the Scarlet Crusade had thought that anyone may have become infected and were simply lying to save themselves from being lynched by scared neighbours – the whole town was breeding distrust and fear in waves. The convoy had unfortunately reached, and even worse was that all the guards had partaken some of the food from it to supply themselves on the journey.

Apollo silently nodded to the others to stem any panic that the Scarlet Crusaders may have caused and that they shouldn't reveal anything to the Infected Guards.

The high point of the _visit_ was that no necromancer had been identified and none were present in the region, thereby giving the people some respite.

Apollo waited until his friends had returned before gathering council around Arthas in the Prince's Encampment, set up right outside the gates of Stratholme, in the woods beyond the lake. Once everyone was presented, the council began.

"The situation is dire; I have tried to heal the infected guards, but to my dismay, it has not worked. I believe this may be due to one of two things: either they aren't fully infected yet, and thus cannot be cured, or the second more dangerous cause, that it cannot be healed at all."

Apollo's start gave way to feelings of helplessness amongst everyone. Arthas pondered for a while before addressing Sylvanas.

"How many rangers do you have present?"

"For what purpose? I have all five squads who are ready for combat; Apollo graciously healed them moments previously."

"Humour me; if we were to be forced into fighting a war on two fronts, then I would like to know how many soldiers I can count on."

Jaina picked up here. "I have guards and a number of sorcerers myself, ready for combat."

Apollo turned to Anya, who responded as joint second-in-command and personal guard. "All Warriors of Light are ready for battle, milord." The rest raised their eyebrows at her way of addressing him, but shrugged it off as unimportant.

"Good, then we can set up perimeters around the 'fanatics' districts, and also seal up the side entrance so that no one from the outside can get in. That'll keep off any onslaught from the scourge. Now, the last thing we need to deal with are the infected in this—"

"Burn them."

A shocked looked from everyone told Arthas he might not have said the right thing. Jaina exploded first. "How can you say that? They are alive! You'd burn people alive on suspicion of being infected?"

"Yes. This is the only way to ensure the plague stops spreading. I can—"

"Absolutely not! We would be no better than those Scarlet pests ourselves!"

"You don't understand, this is for the good of the people and the land—"

"I understand just fine! You're a coward, Arthas!"

Apollo took a step back and discretely enjoyed the chaos brewing in the room. _As long as he doesn't drag us into it._

"How dare you? I do this for the good of all!"

Just before anyone could reply, however, a commotion from inside the city gates which resulted in one of the rangers running at full speed towards them broke them out of their argument.

"Milord, Milady, the people are revolting! The oppressed and the poor have broken through the ranks and stolen sacks of food before we could identify which were plagued and which weren't, claiming that we had no right to keep their food from them! It's uncontrollable! And," here, she faltered, before picking up again, "There's a demon there, I can feel it."

At this, everyone paled. Arthas shook himself for a moment before arguing back with Jaina. "See? I told you – Stratholme needs to be purged. Mal'Ganis is behind this!"

Apollo could do little other than stop his boiling fury from erupting. He had met some people in Stratholme before, he had considered them good friends, and now _Arthas_ of all people intended to just damn them all and burn them alive? _NOT ON OUR WATCH!"_

Uther had come in during the argument and after hearing this part gave Arthas the ultimatum that it was either the purge or the paladins, and in the end, Arthas believing himself betrayed ordered the culling of Stratholme and personally disbanded the Order of the Silver Hand. He turned to Sylvanas and Apollo; while the former informed him that her superiors (the ruling council of Silvermoon City) had recalled them back, and that she could no longer fight for him; Apollo responded by uttering through gritted teeth that Terenas would have his head and disband his expedition if he disobeyed _the crown_, and so he was forced to be with him.

Arthas watched Sylvanas leave first, and turned away with a grim look upon his face before gnashing his teeth and charging headfirst into Stratholme with a lit torch in hand, his personal command of soldiers following him closely behind.

Apollo watched as Uther turned to him with a grave expression before nodding and charging off to the Order's headquarters, while Jaina looked at Arthas' back with tears in her eyes. Apollo approached her from behind before resting a gauntleted hand on her shoulder.

"He is stubborn, with grave consequences. Don't cry, Jaina, he is bent on revenge for what he sees as slights against the kingdom – his kingdom."

She sniffled a bit. "Yes – but I didn't expect this from him—"

"Darling – Jaina, I don't think _anyone_ expected that from him."

Jaina's face reddened very quickly before she paused and turned away from him for a moment.

"I—I have to go."

Apollo nodded for a moment, before turning back to her.

"You know I'm only in this because of my oath, you know?"

She sneered at him. "Yes, because thousands of innocents if worth more than your oath."

Apollo stood stock still before a furious look came upon his face. "I swear to thee, Jaina Proudmoore, that I will stand aside from my liege's command and will not harm anyone. Moreover, I promise to uphold _your_ values and help whoever I can, consequences be damned."

Jaina's breath hitched in her throat and she rushed back to him Apollo, drawing him in a hug and apologizing softly in his chest.

"I still have to go, though. You wouldn't understand—I—It's, someone told me to go west, to take my people and leave the cursed lands. Who knows – I might even end near you."

Apollo nodded and after an emotional farewell left to join Sylvanas.

"So, you came."

"I did indeed."

"Now you're going."

"Yes, I am. Is there a point to this conversation, or are you settling for the short replies of history?"

Apollo looked slightly flustered, something that got her interested. She decided to change subjects and help him out.

"So, Anya Eversong—"

"Oh no you don't, I'm not getting roped in a conversation about her." Sylvanas chuckled.

"I take it she has managed to annoy you into being your _personal_ guard? You don't seem to have any others."

"Don't tell me. She's got it in her head that because I saved her life she owes it to me, and therefore swore her undying loyalty to me. Though I suppose that's a poor oath these days; being an undead would most likely mean you're in the control of the Nathrezim; blasted dreadlords that they are."

Sylvanas smirked before sighing slowly.

"You're going back to him, aren't you?"

"I have to."

"I wish you didn't."

"Me neither. But _duty_ calls, and the _prince_ won't let it lie, as you saw."

"Stay alive. I wouldn't want to lose a valuable sparring partner."

Apollo smiled. "I'll try." He paused for a short moment before continuing. "You know, you're most likely going to feel the repercussions of his actions sooner or later. Please, for your people's sake, if not for me, don't stay here too long; you'll be better off preparing Silvermoon to fend off the undead scourge."

Sylvanas didn't reply but gave a dismissive gesture before trotting away on her hawkstrider.

With a heavy heart and a growing grudge against Arthas, Apollo rode back to Stratholme and entered the city. He came upon Arthas just in time to see him fight an actual dreadlord, who named himself Mal'Ganis.

"Your journey has just begun, young prince. Gather your forces, and meet me in the arctic land of Northrend. It is there we shall settle the score between us. It is there that your true destiny will unfold!"

_So this is Mal'Ganis, huh? It seems Kel'Thuzad knew what he was talking about. It's a pity Arthas killed him._

Apollo looked at Arthas questioningly as the latter grunted in poorly concealed rage.

"I see you've had run-ins with this particular dreadlord before?"

"Every single time he took a town, he bragged about it, lorded it over me in front me, _in my face_. Yes, I've had quite a few run-ins with him."

"Ah... I see. Well?"

"Well what?"

"What will you do? Follow him to Northrend?"

"Yes, Apollo, that is exactly what I intend to do. Are you with me in this?"

"I'll follow you as I am wont to do, your highness." Apollo ground out bitterly, but Arthas did not respond to it, if he did indeed pick up on it.

Without another word, Arthas left Stratholme to prepare for the march to Northrend, against the explicit wishes of Uther Lightbringer, High Priestess Loraine and the rest of Terenas' advisor council.

**.oOo.**

"What plagues you, Broodmother?"

"Nalice! How nice of you to show your snout here; can't say I'm too happy about it."

"Well you see, we heard some interesting rumours up at the obsidian dragonshrine. That apparently the Great and Mighty Onyxia had gone soft and taken a _human_ filth as consort. We cannot afford to keep such rumours in the open, so I had to investigate whether your mockery of the old ways had gotten to such heights or not."

"You _dare_ question _me_ in _my_ lair?"

"Oh, I know you wouldn't do too much to me, the ambassador. Maybe a few nicks here and there, but haven't we all suffered those? So tell me, did your audacity really reach such levels?"

"You fool! You cannot fathom what I did nor why I did it; I would warn you not to judge that which you cannot comprehend, little Nalice."

Onyxia could see the smaller dragon bristle at that, but unfortunately she kept herself in check, apparently still fearful of her despite her statute as ambassador of the black dragonflight.

"I understand enough to see that these rumours must have some semblance of truth to them, then."

With a sharp growl, Onyxia blasted Nalice down to the ground and forced her to lie still.

"Very well, let me tell you a tale ..."

Nalice could not believe her ears at the Broodmother's tale. Never had she (or for that matter, anyone) encountered a being that could do such wonderful thing by only manipulating Holy Light – no, Apollo was definitely no human – and she had a sudden epiphany.

"We could revive our dragonflight within months! If we were to get all possible hatching mothers together—"

Onyxia snarled at the thought. "You will _not_ use him as _you_ see fit, but as _I_ see fit. It is after all _my_ consort, and it is with _me_ that he sought the alliance."

"Yes of course, Broodmother."

She turned to leave, but a thought occurred at the last moment. "Does he have a dragon form, Onyxia? Or did you two get to rutting in humanoid form?"

Nalice had to flee before Onyxia's overpowered dragon flame singed her wings.

Once she had left, Onyxia pondered on how easily her consort had managed to get her to form the alliance with him. She was still astounded by his powers, certainly, and she saw him as a tool to greatness, definitely, but would there ever be anything more?

The possible answers to that question sent shivers down her spine. She had felt the Old God that he carried, and trapped or not, it was a powerful adversary and possibly a major opposition to any plan she'd had about dominating and controlling Apollo into doing things for her.

Yes, she faked her interest in him at first, but the way Nixondra reported about him, after she'd made contact, suggested that he could be much more valuable than previously thought. Of course, it was because of how valuable he was to her plans that she paid so much attention to him, even while he was away. Her ... concern ... for his safety was little more than appreciation of his powers and a desire to keep him alive for her purposes.

With those thoughts still lingering in her head, Onyxia hatched a new plan to enthral humans in the Eastern Kingdoms, with a little help from her oh-so-jovial father. The Prestors were making a comeback.

**.oOo.**

Apollo was angry. He had not yet managed to contact Aegwynn, yet here was Arthas, dragging him into another one of his foolhardy schemes for personal vengeance.

_You need to accept that in life, there are winners and there are losers; just because you're a spoiled brat does not mean you are entitled to everything._

The legion that travelled with him currently was the elite regiment of the Lordaeron troops, accompanying Arthas with one goal in mind: revenge for the fallen – the downfall of Mal'Ganis.

They had landed on the shores of Northrend not long after Arthas' impetuous undertaking at Stratholme, and until now had not found any sign of the dreadlord. They were alone in the freezing cold, facing off the might of the Lich King's frozen armies, and the men were losing hope. Arthas relied on few people now; only those he knew from long previously, or those that owed him their life.

The small group was gathered in his tent, discussing their possible strategies, and Apollo had had enough of it.

As had Arthas.

"ENOUGH! This is getting us nowhere. Everyone, leave me, I wish to reflect upon our next course of action!"

As he was about to leave the tent, Arthas discreetly motioned for him to stay. Annoyance flitted over his features briefly before he acquiesced as gracefully as he could.

"Sometimes I think you're the only one I can still trust, Apollo. All those years, and out of all our friends, you are the only one who has remained by my side, supporting my decisions. So I would ask you, Highlord of the Light, how would you fix the current situation?"

Apollo smirked – this was the perfect moment to get him back.

"I suggest you hire mercenaries – there are plenty to be found around these parts – and get them to destroy our ships. We can then blame the mercenaries, rightfully, about this and this will cause the men to be united in a single goal once more. After you've finished with your conquest here, you would be able to return home. The men will stop clamouring for their wives and babes and will instead be focused in their combat."

Arthas pondered over that for a moment, before a distorted grin washed upon his face.

"I knew it was a good idea dragging you back from Kalimdor. Let's get to it, shall we?"

The preparations had been made, the mercenaries were here, all that remained was for Arthas and Apollo to burn the ships. At the last moment, though, Apollo pleaded a confrontation within his own troops and begged off of the _project_, leaving Arthas to start it off.

With a nervous mind, he began his betrayal.

The next morning, all of the mercenaries were dead, and Arthas believe that one of them must have killed Apollo in the confusion of the battle. With a heavy heart, he built a tomb to his paladin friend and trudged onwards towards his goal.

Meanwhile, Apollo and mercenaries sailed back on his ship with the injured and elder soldiers who wanted no more part in Northrend. They were few, as most were killed in battles, and the rest were healed, but they still numbered enough that when Apollo sailed back to Light's Watch, he'd have an increase of at least eighty seasoned fighters.

**.oOo.**

"Anya, we've reached Light's Watch – you know what to do, don't you?"

"Yes, milord, I'll go call Lady Alana to ready her for riding at first light."

"Very good. It is of the utmost importance, especially now, that I go find more help."

"And I—We will follow you to ends of space and time, milord."

Without another word, the troops disembarked, to the utmost joy of everyone present, and Apollo sent a communiqué to Terenas Menethil the Second right away.

"Your Highness, I have returned from our battles in Northrend – Arthas has personally sent me back to go find more help on Kalimdor for his efforts, and has sent the following list of soldiers back with me as they all needed to be treated. You may rest assured that when I left, our offensive was reaping great rewards and we were making huge progress in the _right_ direction."

Terenas acknowledged it with some measure of relief before wishing him luck on his endeavour, thanking him at the same time for keeping his sole heir safe for the duration.

At dawn, under heavy, marshland rain, the three set off on their journey once more, hoping that it would not be cut short this time, and Apollo personally hoped that she would be able to help him with his problems.

They had travelled by foot and by horse for over three days before they reached a river to the north of the bay they had just crossed. Apollo watered his steed before motioning at his two companions for some privacy; Anya made a face before agreeing to leave him alone, and that's when Apollo blinked as far away from them without losing sight of them as he could, in the space of that time.

He had seen a herd of thunder-lizards up ahead and instantly realized what that meant: he had reached the abode of Magna Aegwynn.

By the time Anya and Alana returned, Apollo had a knowing smirk on his face and asked whether the two would mind waiting at the spot for him to return. While both were intrigued, there was no way Anya would leave Apollo alone in this land alone, and Alana was not inclined to staying alone. In the end, a slightly frustrated Anya had to obey _her lord_ and Alana turned a blind eye to Apollo's meanderings, valid until the next morning. With a sigh of relief and a skip in his step, Apollo raced towards Aegwynn's hut.

Magna Aegwynn had apparently been having a very nice day until he had shown up. Not having recognized him, but having noticed the pendant, she had immediately been suspicious of him – especially with Onyxia's insignia on his vest. It had taken him to show his full out 'holy form' for her to trust him, and he had began speaking about Basilan before informing her about his passing away, news which brought tears to her eyes, if only a couple.

"So yes, the reason why I am here today is because of Basilan and the Barrows Edict. I—I need your help, Aegwynn. I can feel the darkness from this pendant – it's not leaking out; at least, I don't think so. But it isn't normal, milady. It clouds my mind, sometimes, I think."

Aegwynn looked pensive at that. She did not expect that sort of reaction from him – Basilan and his ancestors had always told her that all they felt was their energy going into the pendant, slowly but surely, and that was all. No sign of corruption or ambiguity as to who was in control.

"Did you perhaps notice any ... attempts on your mind? Something like a mental intrusion?"

"No, it's never as obvious as that, always subtle – Old Gods were known for their skills at manipulating minds, weren't they?"

"Yes, that's true – but since the ancients imprisoned them—I have seen your allegiance to the Black Dragonflight, by the way—they have remained chained under us, for eternity; so they say."

"I—Aegwynn, I must tell you something. I am but a mere half of what I was back on my home world, before being catapulted into this one. On our planet, the magical essence used for spells came from within _us_ not the surrounding energies – we developed many arts that might be useful here, but I've since seen that I am unable to channel my internal energy, other than manipulating the light."

Aegwynn gave him a look that told him to go on; she was interested.

"There were certain arts taught to us that did not require us to channel our internal energy outward, but instead, inwards. The strongest mages were able to erect mighty shields in their minds, impenetrable to all but those that they let in. I have been picking up the practice of this 'forgotten' mental art over the past two months, and I can feel it slowly helping me."

"Your point being?"

"I—the only reason I have been able to differentiate the pendant's influence on me is thanks to my mental shields! If I were to find a way to transmit this knowledge to others, then the Old Gods would forever lose their primary power!"

Understanding had dawned on Aegwynn previously; she simply intended to evaluate the young man-elemental in front of him; whether he was worthy of her aid or not.

"Yes. I suspect you can think of other such arts that require the energy to be transmitted through your own body, can you not?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"Has anyone ever taught you how to shape shift? The old Tauren druids in Mulgore have been practicing the art of maintaining the balance of nature for a long time now. Draw inspiration from them; I'm sure you would amount to something."

Apollo wondered why the idea had not crossed his mind previously; it was something his father was famous for, to him. Shaking his head to the side, though, he begged back to the issue of loss of power and divided voices in his mind.

"Well, the only thing I can think of, for now, is to keep practicing your mental shielding technique until you are sure that not even Sargeras could enter it if he wanted to. _That monster_ will stop at nothing trying to get you if he hears of your existence, which he undoubtedly has by now." Aegwynn let him mull over that before following up with his second issue. "And yes, I believe the loss of power is normal. No, shut up, and let me explain. You are immortal, as far as I am concerned, and that means that you do not have life-energy _per se_. You instead have a near unlimited amount of power, and that power is used to sustain the prison on that pendant. Actually, I think it's a fitting way to deal with you."

He was slightly annoyed at that, but figured there was nothing he could do about it for then. What Aegwynn didn't tell him was that she knew of a spell that would cause the pendant to take power from its prisoner instead of the warden, but what Apollo didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

After finishing their amiable discussion, both decided enough time had passed and that he needed to return to Light's Watch. He had received reports that a fleet with the Kul Tiras flag at its head was nearing the southern bay of Dustwallow Marsh, and if that were to be true, then his allies would be much closer than expected, and he would have a tough time dealing with a certain princess about his relationship with the Broodmother of the Black Dragonflight.

No one talked on the trip back, even though Apollo could see Anya literally burning with curiosity at his actions.

No, it wasn't time for talk – his last remaining contact on Northrend had informed him of the death of a certain dwarf by the name of Muradin Bronzebeard, and that Arthas was now seen walking around with a runeblade in his hand.

Inside his partitioned mind, a sinister voice screeched with laughter, raucous, shrilly laughter.

_The Lich King walks again._

* * *

**That's it until the 25****th****—28****th****? I dunno, keep forgetting posting schedules.**

**Next chapter will deal with the return of the king (insert ironic and sarcastic laughter) and the struggles of the high elves, the birth of the free undead, and many more exciting events (such as Apollo giving way to his absolute and divine rage).**

**I understand some of you might think Onyxia is too quick to trust Apollo, but we see in the actual game if not the lore how she cares for her eggs, if not her spawn. I would also like to remind you that though the Culling of Stratholme did not quite take place in the way I showed it, it does happen in a similar fashion, so you have nothing to worry about. Besides, this **_**is**_** fanfiction.**

**If you don't like something,**

**LEAVE A REVIEW, OR GO TO THE POLL!**

**Je vous remercie d'avoir participé, ceux qui l'ont fait, et je vous souhaite une bonne journée !**

**Cheers!**


	4. What is Dead May Never Die

**A/N: **

**Hey guys! I know I'm late, but I'm always late, so you're probably used to it by now. Here's chapter four, unbeta'd.**

I saw some horrendous mistakes in grammar and sentence structuring (not to mention incorrect word use) while re-reading the story a couple of days ago.

I must apologize – I don't have a beta, and I sadly won't be doing any kind of re-write of those chapters any time soon as I'm quite constricted time-wise.

_**(You can tell, I know. I'm sorry for not updating earlier, but ... I'm a lazy arse.)**_

Thanks for the support and your many reviews which keep me going and keep making me want to write for all of you.

**I generally give answers to reviews in PMs or by explaining within the chapters, so I suggest you read them carefully. :)**

Also, first proper cliff-hanger ending of the story. You'll see. :)

**First Posted: 16th August 2013**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Refer to previous chapters.

* * *

**Chapter 4: ****What is Dead May Never Die**

* * *

One thing that Apollo had realized on his own was that there _had_ been a trade-off between him and the pendant he was wearing, instead of him simply losing a bit of his essence to power the symbolic jail. He had the positively disturbing ability to literally stare someone into madness.

The beggar who had caught him at an inopportune moment was proof of that. He had mistakenly tried to get between Apollo and one of his men, the former trying to discipline the later verbally, and instead of seeing reason, the old beggar had seen something in his mind, through his eyes, that had literally caused him to lose his sanity and go stark raving mad.

His men didn't even bother him with trivialities since the incident, following him as unquestioningly and as loyally as the myrmidons were rumoured to have followed Achilles.

Arthas' return marked the beginning of a new era of pain and hopelessness for the humans. Their largest kingdom lay practically in ruins, its inhabitants massacred by the thousands at the hands of the still active Cult of the Damned; the greatest Paladin of them all, Lord Uther Lightbringer had been killed in single combat against the King-(and arguably more importantly 'kin')-slayer Arthas Menethil.

When Arthas had still concentrated on freeing the Cult of the Damned in Lordaeron and the upper half of the eastern kingdoms, Sylvanas and her rangers had decided that enough was enough and that they wouldn't be able to defend their own homes if they didn't fall back in time to raise their defences.

This was where Apollo came in. Jaina had sent along a message to him, stating the situation back home and that it was direr than before. She pleaded for him to help her (and his) old friends and family, to which Apollo reluctantly agreed.

Now, he was busy tormenting one of the few living members of the Cult of the Damned still in Lordaeron for Arthas' current position. Yes, it was torture.

The action or practice of inflicting severe pain on someone as a punishment or in order to force them to do or say something is known as torture. However, the kind of torture Apollo was causing on the woman in front of him would leave the most hardened war veterans vomiting on the floor. Aesthetically, there was very little wrong with her – in fact, one could almost argue that Apollo took better care of his prisoners than of his own troops – apart from the fact that her eyes were dripping tears of blood. She had a few scratches on her arms where she was harming herself, but _otherwise_ she looked healthy.

No, what was wrong with her was the inside of her head _and body_.

Apollo had long since decided that he would leave Anya to interrogate any prisoners or persons of interest his forces caught. This one, however, deserved special treatment from him: she had poisoned the food supplies for his whole camp; soldiers that were not his but were for the moment the only forces the broken Order of the Silver Hand could muster, and thus were entrusted to him with the duty of protecting the last vestiges of human power in the north.

(The situation _was_ dire.)

What the unfortunate woman in front of him had ended up doing, however, was inadvertently stabbing Anya whilst aiming for Apollo, as he had not been affected by the weak but widespread poisoning of the supplies.

Anya survived but was now resting, and Apollo was furious.

The mind of a sentient being is generally a rather fragile thing – it takes little to worm ones way to another's mind – and yet it is a marvellous thing. It takes far more skill and strength to break one from the inside – unfortunately for the woman, Apollo wasn't skilled enough to do so subtly.

The woman was blubbering incoherently at the current point of time, her whole mind a complete and utter mess, speckled with instances of cohesion whereupon she would freeze in the face of Apollo in her mind. Her behaviour was erratic, too; sometimes she would gaze lewdly at him, gesturing him to edge forward while at others she would scream as loud as possible, backing away (mentally) in terror of the formidable demigod in front of her.

A short while later Apollo emerged from the tent with a frown on his face. He had gotten what he wanted; he knew of Arthas' plans. What that did not do, though, was help him in anyway – Arthas was in command of the Scourge armies the dreadlords and the Cult of the Damned had created; what was more horrifying was that they were heading north. Arthas had set his sights on the Sunwell, with the intention of resurrecting the mage Kel'Thuzad.

Apollo needed to warn Sylvanas, urgently, lest she fall to an undeserving fate.

"Roderick, Payton, gather the men. It is time."

"At once, Milord."

Nodding to the two interim commanders of the merged coalition of human forces, Apollo went on his way towards the High Command tent. The guerrilla warfare they had been conducting had just escalated from scouting and sniping to full frontal assault against the legions of undead in service of the Scourge dreadlords and Arthas. Apollo cursed himself once more – he knew it was a bad idea leaving Arthas behind on Northrend, free to be manipulated by the spirit inside Frostmourne.

_Yes, it would be much better with you as the manipulator, traitor of the light._

Apollo squashed down the rebellious thought like the insignificant bug that it was before frowning at the logistics involved in marshalling the armies properly. He had asked the mages still with him to conserve their strength while deciding that the priests and paladins with him were strong enough to keep exhausted all the time, overworking his foot soldiers in the process.

Infantry was expendable, to him, as long as his larger plans were carried out effortlessly.

A few dozen dying left or right was not that big a deal.

The thoughtlessness displayed for his soldiers life may have shocked some – Aegwynn, for instance – but ever since Apollo and the others displayed the Light's greatest power and miracle to them, the troops became true fanatics to the cause.

After all, even if a resurrection is extremely tiring for one of the light to carry out, it does mean that those who have died may come back to life, to fight another day. Apollo silently mused on the first time he and his fellow priests and paladins had reached the site of a failed raid against the Cult of the Damned – thankfully, the humans weren't able to resurrect those who had already died as part of the undead scourge, and thus had left the corpses there to rot and fade into the ravaged ground.

While Aegwynn (who had joined him at Jaina's insistence and at his soldiers' relief) and the 1st legion of the Order watched, the practitioners of the Light all joined their hands and concentrated on their dead allies around them.

A long hour of chanting later, many of them collapsed from the strain and waited anxiously to see the results of their conviction.

They were rewarded by the sight of all their fallen allies staggering back upright, their wounds and missing limbs re-attached and healed, greatly raising the morale of the army and increasing their faith in the Blessed Light.

Apollo himself had shouldered a lot of the requirement for the casting and had fallen to his knees upon completion of the spell, much to the alarm of his friends, and had been hailed as a hero and blessed spirit along with all the priests and paladins present by the average soldier.

His musings were cut short when the object of his obsessions caught up with him.

"I see you are making the final preparations to march against Arthas, Lightwielder."

Slightly perplexed, Apollo turned to face Aegwynn. "Lightwielder?"

She chuckled before replying. "That is what the soldiers have taken to calling you, _milord._ They have witnessed a miracle closely guarded by ye of the Light, forcefully unveiled by current circumstances."

Apollo gave a small grunt before sending her a questioning look. Aegwynn sighed – had she not been slightly harsh to Apollo over the past few months, their positions would be quite different right now. She felt the attraction to the demigod and knew that he returned it, albeit in a more possessive way than she was accustomed to.

"Look, Apollo, we have to sort these ... tensions out if we are to work cohesively with each other. I have caused you much trouble over the past few weeks, and I apologize for that. You must understand, though, you bear a heavy burden, one that I have personally seen destroying the life of so many of my close friends and _family._"

Apollo gave her a rueful smile before answering. "Was Basilan close to you, milady?"

Aegwynn smiled before answering. "Yes, he was a good friend to me. I do believe he saw me as a mother figure, and I saw him as my son, to make up for my failures with Medivh. I could not in good conscience see you the same way before assuring myself that you would not destroy his legacy."

Apollo gave her a small chuckle before unsheathing his sword and polishing it.

Aegwynn smiled briefly before continuing. "No, not that legacy." She paused, peering deeply into Apollo's vivid eyes, searching for something she did not seem to find. She decided instead to test him.

"You are still _intact_, from what I can see, milord."

Apollo gave a snarl at that. "I am _not_ another one of your experiments, girl! I have existed for a long time, without help from anyone, and I certainly do not need anyone questioning my sanity!"

If Aegwynn noticed his slip-up, she did not say anything. Deep down, though, she knew. When Apollo had first approached her, he was afraid that the piece of the Old God around his neck was slowly influencing him, taking over control of his mind, and he felt powerless to stop it. He had said so himself, and now he was in danger.

He gazed momentarily into Aegwynn's eyes in return, desperately pleading for help and forgiveness, for someone to hold his nightmares at bay.

The brief moment of weakness was almost imperceptible before his inner walls were slammed back up, the turmoil inside hidden from others, but it was not quick enough for Aegwynn to miss it. She sucked in her breath before gesturing for him to accompany her, leading him away from his intended destination to take a little detour.

Apollo, meanwhile, was incredulous as to the happenings around him – when had he become so open, so miserably _human_, so badly inconstant? He was drowning in the warring feelings inside him – the uncontrollable rage and disgust he felt at times, and the immeasurable love and relief he felt – and did not refuse Aegwynn when she entered her private quarters and dragged him to her bed, sitting him down beside her and consoling him. The maddeningly slow brushes of her hands on his back weakened his resolve and inflamed his obsession, and for a moment he was afraid that the shivers along his spine were actually arcane burns inflicted by the angel beside him.

He turned to her with a sorrowful gaze before bringing his head down on her shoulder, sighing deeply as he did so. Aegwynn knew his infatuation with her was merely that – obsession and curiosity – and she was determined not to make him hate her later on by pursuing something that would only disappear.

With that in mind, she lifted her right hand up and cupped Apollo's face, burning as it was to her touch, and ran her thumb along his lips. She hadn't moved from her position with him resting against her, and so did not turn her head to place the customary kiss on his forehead.

"It will be alright," she whispered, "as long as we believe, as long as we _live_, we will not fail, we will not drown."

Apollo's croaked out a single word, sudden realization coming crashing over him as to what his necklace entailed and how it had turned him, before choking out a half strangled sob at his actions.

"I did this, you know," he whispered back to her, his voice becoming increasingly anxious and strangely desperate, "I did this to Arthas. To my own friend... nay, brother!"

Aegwynn sighed before deciding the argument would be better handled at later time, and the blame game could be carried out later. For now, she needed her commander calm and confident, just like when his darker side was in control. "Yet you could not have prevented it from happening; I saw your memories, dear one. We cannot change the past, and so we must change the future."

She brought a shuddering Apollo to lie on her lap, the full implications of his previous actions coming down upon him once more, and knew it was time to tone down the intensity of her mental clarity spell.

"How do you bear it, Aegwynn, the loss of control? How do you live with what you've done?"

She knew he wasn't directly questioning _her_ decisions, merely asking in general, but it irritated her nevertheless. This _child_ thought he was good enough to lead an empire – even if while under the influence of an Old God, clearly – and he had the audacity to question why he failed afterwards. It was both laughable and pitiful. She mentally growled at Basilan's decision to hand his pendant to an immortal – of course that moronic man would think Apollo was Uther the second. There was a reason why she didn't directly help his family when begged to help with the curse.

She _knew_ this would happen, and had prepared accordingly. No Old God was going to best her.

Not the Last Guardian of Tirisfal, Magna Aegwynn, Vanquisher of Sargeras.

**.oOo.**

Apollo strode into the High Command tent without so much as a glance to the startled figures standing on either side before taking his seat at the high table.

He had gotten over his moment of weakness, and he was back in control. Somehow, the Old God had managed to seep a sliver of his consciousness through the partitioned mind and had temporarily brought out his darker side once more, something which disturbed him greatly. Aegwynn's help was instrumental in getting rid of the parasite hiding in his head before she conceded to a secret that made him extremely angry.

She had explained herself before casting the spell: she did not trust him fully at first, even though he explained the full circumstances surrounding his arrival on this planet, and she did not know if he truly behaved as he claimed. After having watched him the recent few months, however, she acquiesced that he would be better off with the power-switch spell on the pendant, forcing the Old God inside to expend his limited energy to hold his jail dimension together instead of it borrowing energy from Apollo to do so.

The Barrows Edict was a curse no longer, effectively, but for some reason Apollo could not regain his lost power – Aegwynn's theory being that the Old God had created a dimensional loop through which the extra power was constantly absorbed and nullified – a final act of revenge.

In essence, the funnel used to channel his immense power would remain narrow.

Apollo turned his gaze towards the people at the high table, acknowledging each of them and their stature, analyzing their mood and morale. It seemed luck was on his side – they were all slightly anxious but nevertheless looked too relaxed to give the feeling that they felt their situation was unsolvable.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. You know why you're here; let's begin with the situation report. Roderick, if you would..."

"Yes, of course, milord." Said commander brought out a map of the Eastern Kingdoms before pointing to key locations along it. "As you can see, this is the most direct route Arthas can take to reach the Sunwell. If we know him and his tactics well, he's not one for subtlety." He turned to Apollo for reassurance and received an acquiescing nod in return. "As such, he will most likely gather all of his strength together and push for bulldozing his way to destination."

He took a pause and gestured to Payton, who quirked up his eyebrows in annoyance before standing up and continuing. "We are going to intercept him here, near the Amani pass, and here, twenty leagues south of Silvermoon City." He cut off all the questions he could see were on everyone's lips. "Yes, we are splitting our main assault force in two. The heavy defences and slower troops will march to hold the position near Silvermoon, thanks to the Lady Sylvanas Windrunner's help, who has agreed to set up portals for us, while the lighter scouts and shock troopers will pursue and harry the much slower undead abominations and siege monsters at the Amani pass. Yes, once again, we will be getting help from the Farstriders, who have already set up numerous traps."

"Would it not be smarter to keep the infantry contingent at Silvermoon and instead send the cavalry to fight the slower scourge troops?"

Payton replied with a smirk. "You misunderstand me. That is exactly what we are doing. You see, the light cavalry scouts have become the shock troopers, while we have worked overtime with our mages to enchant our infantry's armour up to shape to take a hit from a battering ram. The downside, of course, is that they are now much slower, as they have literally become walking demolishers."

Apollo himself was quite surprised by this development, as he had not taken any particular interest in the current technologies available to him, more focused on the guerrilla warfare talking place. Now that it was time for actual frontal combat, though, he was annoyed he didn't take a greater interest in the proceedings. Fortunately for him, everyone else at the table was just as shocked, if Alana's wide-eyed look was any indication.

"What we do now require, however, is support from the dwarves."

"Dwarves?"

"Yes; more specifically, we need aerial support, and they are the only known gryphon keepers we have access to." Payton chuckled, and elaborated.

"Unfortunately for us, the Scourge has plenty of gargoyles and other undead creatures that would fight from range, such as banshees and the lich. We do not have advantage in that regard, because our archers can only fire their blessed arrows so far, and a banshee is very hard to even _hinder_ physically. We cannot tire our mages out by having them fight against all flying creatures _and_ the banshees, which is why we need aerial combatants."

"Well, why haven't we got them yet, then?"

"Once again, Arthas has shown himself to be competent enough as a strategist. We are cut-off from the south – that is where the Bronzebeards and the other clans reside, and the way to them is guarded by the dead. The dead keep it, and do not suffer the living to pass. Arathi Highlands is crawling with the Cult of the Damned fugitives, and we do not have sufficient manpower to hunt them down."

Apollo thought to himself for a while before giving Aegwynn a questioning glance. She saw his look and sighed, before giving him a nod, showing her support for his next revelation.

"Ah... well, you see, I _may_ be able to help you with that small problem."

Everyone's eyes fell on him, and the High Commander stood up and began to slowly pace around the table.

"I have, back in Kalimdor, the allegiance of a strong, loyal, and brutal species of ... aerial combatants. They are happy to help me, as long as I am with them, and they will not bat an eyelash to a request from me for a contingent of their forces to fight for us." Apollo wasn't completely sure about what he was saying, but they definitely needed a morale boost right now, and it seemed to be working. The table was full of whispers discussing how helpful that could be and how reliable they could be.

Roderick, however, hesitatingly raised the question he was waiting for. "And ... who might these allies be, milord?"

Apollo smirked before looking at each individual in the eyes. "Tell me, what do you know about black dragons?"

Immediately, chaos broke out inside the tent, with Aegwynn pinching the bridge between her eyes at the sight. She turned to Apollo before whispering, "And you couldn't have said it in a different way?"

Apollo's sheepish smile just made her shake her head at him and turn to mediate the situation.

A long hour of explanations followed; Anya was looking murderously at him by the end of it and Apollo knew he was in for a bad conversation after dinner.

"Commanders, High Priestess, this is enough! We have a task we have each been assigned, and I suggest we get to it tomorrow without hesitation. It is decided; I will approach milady for her help tomorrow. This meeting is adjourned! Come, dinner has been set up."

After dinner, Apollo met a very irritated High Elf ranger sitting on her single bed inside his tent.

He was afraid she would be angry with him for practically being married to a Black Dragon, and he was right, she _was_ angry – only, not for that reason.

"AND YOU COULDN'T BE BOTHERED TO TELL ME ABOUT _THIS?_ What if she arrived here one day and I accidentally shot her thinking her an enemy?" He questioned her sanity, sometimes.

Apollo's headache rose as he spent part of the night dealing with a very unhappy High Elf schooling him in proper etiquette and manners concerning his considerable failures.

In the morning, a clearly exhausted Apollo motioned to the nearest mage aide to make him a portal to Light's Watch, and asked him to do it quickly before his overly protective bodyguard woke up. The queer looking fellow had an amused glint in his eyes before performing the necessary incantations and opened up the portal, which Apollo stepped towards just in time to hear a loud screech of displeasure from his elven bodyguard.

"Oh bollocks."

**.oOo.**

Apollo sent for High Priestess Nixondra the moment he reached Kalimdor. While waiting, he tried to fix the magnificent black eye he was now sporting as a result of his earlier disobedience. _Light, but women are impossible creatures!_

_You deserved that, fool._

Apollo shuddered before holding his pendant. _Shut up, you Old Goat. No one asked you anything._

After his healing at the hands of Aegwynn, they had found that they could choose to communicate with the Old God trapped inside the pendant, as luckily, even though only a part of it was trapped inside, it held the largest fragment of its sentience. Thankfully, they found out the night before that it was the least repugnant and arrogant aspect of the Old God.

Aegwynn reserved her judgement "for now," she said, as they had only just 'met' him, and as such could not carry out full tests. It seemed, however, that it could only converse while the pendant was in direct contact with the skin – and apparently it was bored and wanted conversation while expending massive energies to keep its jail dimension from imploding, even if it didn't like his jailor much.

_Kind of figured that when you sent my power in an infinite dimensional loop sequence..._

_That is what you deserve for disturbing me after such a long slumber. Now that I am awake, you must keep me entertained._

Apollo had smirked before kissing Aegwynn and mentally challenging the fiend. _Are you not yet entertained?_

Aegwynn had been surprised at his boldness before cursing him and his playful nature.

Apollo shook his head clear and let go of the pendant as he saw Nixondra approach with an inquisitive look upon her face, which was doubled at seeing him heal the last impressions of a black eye.

Anya had allowed him to go ahead without her but had given him the warning that next time, the punch would be to a more sensitive place, and that she would make him regret ever thinking of leaving her behind for _'her safety'_.

Apollo surprised Nixondra by greeting her in native draconic. "Hello, Nixondra. I need your help."

"Lord Apollo? What do you want?"

The darker Apollo would have bristled at her tone, but he knew it was the nature of black dragons to be arrogant and not very patient, apart from a few exceptions. Now that Nixondra knew that Apollo was her mistress' consort, she had no qualms addressing him normally, in terms of black dragons.

"I need to know if milady is home." If Nixondra was surprised by how he referred to his consort, she did not show it. Instead, she looked unnerved at the question and replied only after a demanding gaze from him.

"Yes, she is. However, I received news that she was heading for the birthing chambers this morning."

At first, Apollo did not comprehend what she was so nervous about – "So Onyxia went and had the next batch of eggs... oh. She had her next batch of eggs."

"Have you visited her lately, milord?"

An annoyed look flitted over his face for a moment, and Nixondra was sure she could feel jealousy emanating from him.

"No, no I haven't."

"Well... I suppose you will see her, then?"

Brought back from his musings, Apollo remembered the true purpose of the visit and sighed. "Yes, I have urgent matters to discuss with my queen."

Nixondra bowed and left him, upset as he was, and quickly retreated before he could take his growing anger out on her – that is, if he _was_ indeed like the other black dragons.

Apollo knew he had no right to be incensed as he was at hearing his consort's actions. She had told him before, theirs would not be that kind of a relationship – but right now he was more concerned about the black dragon that would go around proclaiming that he was the real consort of Onyxia, thereby undermining his position of respect, and dare he think it, power.

Over the past few weeks with Aegwynn, the most accomplished mage to ever live, Apollo picked up a couple things. She had instilled within him the obsession with manipulation of one's inner energies, and she had helped him practice morphing his shape into that of another, for starters.

Eventually, he had discovered that the process was not only not dissimilar to the animagus transformation his father and his clique had been famous for, but also that he was limited in his manipulation to achieving one perfect shape, after which the rest would become blurry and impossible to recreate. Aegwynn herself could not understand why he was unable to transform into anything else, as she demonstrated afterwards by turning him into a cat, frog, and sheep successively. She laughed as he grumbled about arcane manipulation being unfair and left him to his own devices, perfecting the one shape he could become.

Now, several months after that training session, standing atop the tallest tower in Light's Watch, Apollo was ready to take shape and fly towards his _loving_ Queen.

Several gasps of astonishment and disbelief were heard throughout the town as a majestic-looking, translucent dragon of golden hue flew over their heads, heading for the southern swamps. Nixondra herself looked puzzled before realization struck and she began smirking – whoever _dared _lay claim to Onyxia in his absence was about to be pulverized.

Lieutenant Brimgore, first of his name as far as he was concerned, was having a quiet and peaceful day flying across the swamp flats, munching on a delicious raptor haunch before alighting against the entrance to his mistress' lair. He was content, and a deep rumbling from his belly agreed with him. Just as he finished his haunch of meat, however, he turned his reptilian gaze up at the bright blue sky and got the biggest shock of his life.

An ethereal dragon of epic proportions was slowly descending towards him. _Is this Nozdormu? No, it cannot be – he is off fighting against himself and the Infinite Dragonflight – and this dragon looks too lucent to be him. What is this creature?_

With slight fright he drew up to full height and mentally sent for the wyrmkin guards below. If this was a threat to his mistress, it chose the wrong day to fight with them. Just as he bared his fangs, however, the golden dragon landed softly on the ground and swiftly changed into a human he recognized all too well.

He staggered back in shock, his wings scratching the obsidian rock around the entrance.

"Milord!" He was cut off before he could say more, however, and the expression on Apollo's face told him it would be a bad day to mess with _him._

"Yes, Brimgore. I need to see milady." When he saw Brimgore stare at him without moving, Apollo lost his patience. "NOW!"

Brimgore did not understand how the puny looking human he had met not so long ago had become so commanding and powerful. He could smell the alpha male aroma spreading from him, and he immediately knew it would be a bad idea to refuse the immortal. He complied accordingly, and as fate would have it, the wyrmkin guards arrived at that exact moment, ready to escort their lord to their mistress.

Apollo himself did not understand very well what was happening. He had never thought he could become so disgusted by lesser beings, and for a second thought the Old God in his pendant was influencing him again. But as his luck would have it—

_No, it is all coming from you this time, vermin. Do not think to bring _me_ into your petty existence so frivolously._

That answered that line of thought.

As he reached the hatching/birthing chambers, he saw Onyxia had finished and was discussing with what appeared to be a smaller dragon in front of her. Apollo walked in and looked at the dragon with cold fury. It was a male.

The moment Onyxia noticed him and saw his expression, her eyes widened. The dragon she was talking to turned around, confused, until he saw the immortal in front of him, glaring at him with eyes blazing. Before he could say anything, Onyxia spoke up.

"Apollo! What are you doing here?"

Said immortal gritted his teeth before replying. "I was simply coming home to meet my _loving_ Queen, _Lady Onyxia_. But now, I find myself thirsty." At her questioning look, Apollo walked forward until he was completely inside the cavern and changed into his dragon form, something that shocked both other occupants of the room.

Apollo saw a twinkle in Onyxia's eyes as she let her eyes devour his new form before continuing. "And, happily, I find myself in luck."

The smaller dragon in front of him was slightly scared. He ventured a question. "How so, Lord Consort?"

"I have plenty to assuage my thirst with right here." With that, Apollo pounced on the smaller dragon and began clawing its wings apart and tearing his jaws into its neck. The struggle was going poorly for the smaller dragon, as Apollo in dragon form was much larger than Onyxia herself, and it was a massacre being dragged on for Apollo's vengeful pleasure.

Fortunately for the dragon, this kick-started Onyxia into action. "What are you doing? Release my brother's envoy at once!"

Apollo turned to her and bared his teeth to her. "Oh, an envoy, is THAT what he is!"

Onyxia looked stunned for a second before looking searchingly into his eyes, and finding something that surprised her greatly. Her consort was somehow, incomprehensibly, jealous. "Yes, of course that's what he is; he was delivering an urgent message to me from Romathis! Why, what has happened?"

Apollo instantly stopped attacking the frightened dragon in front of him and released the poor, battered envoy immediately. He turned his baleful look instead to Onyxia, and growled at the envoy to get out, the latter gingerly obeying before collapsing outside the birthing chambers.

Onyxia was generally a very haughty and vain dragoness, but the look from her consort was starting to frighten even her. She had not seen a look filled with such malice and—was it betrayal?—from even her father when he became Deathwing.

Finally, Apollo stopped advancing towards her and instead turned away in disgust. "You would allow him into your birthing chambers, and not the guards?" His gravelly voice held equal parts disdain and fury.

Onyxia was still unsure why he was acting in such manner, but she was inexplicably attracted to the sheer presence and power he was displaying. Her draconic voice sounded shaky, almost subdued to his enhanced hearing; he questioned her vocally once more, not realizing the alluring effect his voice had on her. "Well?"

"I... I was done before he was allowed to enter. I ..." Onyxia was slowly regaining some of her spirit, lost in the shock of seeing her consort so vicious. She cleared her throat with a loud rumble before picking up again, "I do not understand your point here, or your aggressive display; I am Onyxia, broodmother and Queen of the Black Dragonflight! You believe that _I_ would violate the sanctity of _my_ own birthing den with the presence of another..." Onyxia trailed off right there, finally understanding Apollo's rage and the violence with which he set upon her brother's envoy. She paused for a moment before laughing so hard that her massive body fell to the floor, rumbling along with her.

This only served to further infuriate an already enervated Apollo, but he held his tongue in check, waiting for an explanation. Finally, Onyxia stopped laughing before getting up and giving a shake throughout her massive body.

"Come, my _dear_ _lord consort_, see our children hatch."

Apollo was now thoroughly confused at what she was saying – he had come here with a purpose and had been incensed at learning what she had done – but now, apparently, he learned that the whelps were _his_?

Apollo was not one to be easily beguiled, and believing himself being roped into another trick by Onyxia, he angrily stamped up beside her. "What is the meaning of this, Onyxia? How dare you insinuate..." He abruptly shut up when she silenced him with a glare and pointed with her snout towards the new batch. He looked at her questioningly, whereupon he realized what she wanted. Still not fully comprehending what was happening, and unwilling to fall for any trap, he glared at her, but shifted into his normal humanoid form. He then began the process of accelerating the eggs' growth, just as he had done when he had first met her almost three years previously, and waited with baited breath after he had finished for the results.

They did not have to wait long.

When the first whelp emerged from the shell, Apollo was taken aback. He knew the children of two proper dragons were always dragons, but he had no idea beyond that. Onyxia looked upon her children as any mother would look upon their firstborn, eyes full of hope and joy, something that unsettled Apollo the more he saw it. The expression itself looked misplaced on the majestic black dragoness, whose very nature was dangerous. Apollo knew right away that they were his children, though he knew not how – and not just by the semi-humanoid shape they possessed.

No, all of the tiny eyes were _glowing_ a beautiful golden colour.

After spending a minute watching his first ever descendants, Apollo turned to Onyxia.

"How?" He croaked out.

"The last time you visited, I decided it was time you made good on your first promise. Thus, I took a sample of your blood, and willed myself to bear your children, after taking appropriate measures. I did not anticipate that you would have a dragonkin form, however. Otherwise... we could have started earlier."

Apollo had the decency to blush while also feeling elated. He was being propositioned by his Queen.

Then, things started to become ugly.

"Now, you will explain yourself. How _dare_ you enter _my_ birthing chambers without even asking for permission from me and have the _audacity_ to attack _my_ _guest_ in such brutal manner?"

If it had been Apollo two years ago, he would have retreated into a shell, trying to escape the coming storm. However, this was a new Apollo, more familiar with his Queen, and definitely less cowardly.

Apollo snarled back at her, but it was not as impressive as when he was in dragonkin form. He noticed it, and after careful manoeuvring around his children he turned into his fearsome shape.

"I have the _audacity_ to do so because you have claimed _me_ as your consort! Not another! What was I supposed to think when I heard from Nixondra this morning..."

"You would question _my_ intelligence, Apollo? You are a fool! Beg for my forgiveness, and I _may_ yet choose to forget such an intolerable act! I show you too much leniency already, and that is due to your position!"

This time, Apollo snarled really loudly before roaring in draconic. "You would have _me,_ your own consort, _beg_ for your mercy? You are lucky I care for you too much to rip you into shreds, _my darling little queen_!" He hissed out the ending in a fuming manner before drawing back on his two feet and spread his gigantic wings, giving out a thundering roar, shaking the whole lair.

Onyxia was indeed intimidated by him, but all that turned to nought and she steeled her nerve when she saw how frightened their own children were.

She hissed back in anger at him. "Look at them! You are scaring our offspring! Do you really wish to continue this now?" She gave him a look that promised eternal suffering for his impudence for good measure.

Apollo was getting extremely irritated at how easily she was turning everything on him, but she had a point. Turning towards his frightened children, Apollo inhaled slowly before breathing out a deep enchantment upon his children, which Onyxia watched in fascination as it caused every single one of them to become drowsy before falling asleep with their tiny bodies dropping with a 'flop' on the floor.

Apollo turned to her and grunted in frustration before setting his massive body down in a protective manner around his slumbering children. He gave her one last irate look before turning his head away and letting it rest against an outcropping rock. His nostrils were fuming occasionally, and the sight caused Onyxia to sigh.

She had finally gotten what she had dreamed of ever since she was a little whelp; a caring mate who was both extremely powerful and protective of her and their children.

She decided that even though as Queen of the Black Dragonflight she had a reputation to maintain, she needed to control her consort more and thus be with him now. Waiting a few more minutes, she slowly ground up to Apollo and curled herself up between him and the sleeping whelps. He gave a non-committal grunt as she nudged his head with hers before letting out the dragonkin equivalent of a sigh.

He muttered the next few words in a low, deeply mesmerizing voice. "I apologize, my Queen. I shall not forget myself or my place again." Onyxia exhaled softly at that. He was recognizing her authority above his, and she found it gratifying to have such a powerful specimen at her beck and call (to a certain extent). Besides, she was serious when she had propositioned him. His voice was extremely enthralling to her, and she could feel herself becoming slightly envious as she envisioned Nixondra seeing and hearing him in the morning _before_ her.

After a while had passed, and both parents lay in a comforting grip surrounding their half-blood children, Onyxia voiced herself once more.

"Why are you here now, Apollo? I know knowledge of my birthing could not have reached you in the Eastern Kingdoms so swiftly."

Apollo remembered the real reason for his visit and turned his head, stretching out his right wing just enough to cover Onyxia in a protective embrace before grunting his displeasure with the situation.

"I ... need your help. Our situation back in the Eastern Kingdoms is not a good one. We may have the Light, we may have the valorous soldiers, we may have unequivocal faith and strength in our belief; it will not be enough to face the might of Arthas' near-unending and self-replenishing armies."

Onyxia mused for a moment before gesturing him on. "We have the ground troops. We have the cavalry. Fel, we even have the supplies necessary to keep us provisioned for a whole year of warfare. What we do not possess is support; aerial backup."

Onyxia understood. "And you would beg for my help regarding the aerial support."

Apollo slowly nodded in return. He knew he was asking a lot out of his Queen. She was the authority behind everything in the black dragonflight as far as he was concerned, Nefarian's delusions be damned.

Onyxia pondered for a while on the issue. Though this was her consort asking for her help, she really had no obligations to do so. There was a big incentive to doing it, however; the Black Dragonflight would be seen as fierce and stalwart allies while maintaining their dangerous appearance by most Azerothian races. Also, she would get to gloat about doing the job of the Red Dragonflight for them, at the next Wyrmrest Temple meet, probably to Queen Alexstrasza's discomfiture. The downside was that there was the very real chance that many of her offspring would be severely injured, and Titans-forbid, would even die in the conflict, thereby severely weakening the Black Dragonflight.

Apollo would probably be overjoyed, though, and thus more easy to manipulate.

Onyxia smirked. She could even become Queen of the Dragons herself, usurping Alexstrasza's hard-earned position.

"Very well, I will see what we can spare."

Apollo's sigh of relief made her wonder if she couldn't have forced him to do things in exchange for her aid.

**.oOo.**

When the commanders gathered around the huge portal that was opening in the sky above the High Command tent, they were uncertain as to what to expect. After all, it was unheard of that dragons, especially _black_ dragons, would ever help humans achieve something.

Wagers had been placed around the total numbers that Apollo would be able to bring back with him. They ranged from no support to over a score of drakes and wyrmkin, but the sight of the portal opening in mid-air caused many to rethink their original stances.

It was well known that wyrmkin guards did not fly, Aegwynn said so.

Finally, a figure emerged from the portal. Once it was through, the people gathered around were surprised to find it was a fully mature dragon, even though most were disheartened that only one came through.

It turned to see the audience and greeted them in an exacerbated tone.

"Humans. I am Dreadbane, Lieutenant of the Black Dragonflight. I came first to see if the preparations for our arrival were complete."

This got the commanders talking again. 'Our arrival', it said. How many would be coming through?

"Obviously, you have not done so. Please prepare a large enough area to receive a small strike force of full-fledged dragons, not wyrmkin or other such inadequate entities."

Dispatches were sent around the camp to key points with the orders while Dreadbane watched on with increasing boredom.

Anya gathered the courage to ask the question. "How many would be a small strike force, sir?"

Dreadbane turned to face her with his eyes narrowed, before judging her worthy to know. "My mistress and Queen Lady Onyxia and her Lord Consort are bringing around three score of us to help fight against the rotten vermin you face."

That shocked everyone present. With a force such as that, Arthas' numerical advantage would be largely negated.

"However..."

_There always is a catch._

"We cannot stay too long, for we face our own adversaries in our home, and can only stay for one proper assault against the Death Knight."

Instantly, a clamour rose up between the commanders. This was a double-edged blade to them. They could deal a meaningful blow to the slow Scourge siege troops, but the lighter force which moved with Arthas would face the humans without their black dragon allies.

All conversation was cut short as the main force suddenly exited the portal. At the very end came one of the biggest dragons anyone had ever seen; with gigantic horns protruding from her head and Apollo riding on her back came the Broodmother Onyxia. She circled the camp once before setting down near the High Command tent, letting Apollo jump down from her back before she assumed a humanoid shape.

The next few words seemed to take a lot out of her.

"Greetings, humans. I have come at the behest of my Consort regarding your undead undesirables. I have decided to pledge my ... support ... for your side for one major offensive, after which we must return."

Apollo smirked at everyone's dumbfounded faces before ushering everyone inside the tent. Onyxia took her place at the head of the table, as was her right, though that did not sit too well with some present in the room.

Payton decided it was time to revise their strategies if necessary and immediately spoke up, much to Apollo's gratefulness.

"Lady Onyxia, we thank you immensely for your presence and participation in this war." He bowed to her before continuing. "We have, so far, established that Arthas has left the majority of his siege troops to take the slow path while he and an advance assault group head for the Sunwell to take stock of the situation. This has been a rather foolish decision on his part, though no one could have anticipated your timely aid in the matter."

Payton gestured for General Levitt to continue. "Yes, here is what we intend to do. Through our elven allies in the north, we have managed to secure portals which would lead us directly to Silvermoon City today, and have prepared all our heavy troops and guards for that purpose. Our light cavalry and marksmen are already on their way to the Amani pass chokepoint to destroy the Scourge demolishers."

Roderick picked up here. "What we would need is for your forces to accompany them there and destroy any aerial support Arthas may have set up. We understand black dragons are practically immune to banshee magic, and thus they would be best countered by you. After all the troops there are annihilated, our shock troopers will endeavour to catch up with the main fighting force twenty leagues south of Silvermoon City, cutting up any enemy stragglers along the way. At that point of time, you may consider the major offensive complete."

Onyxia mused for a moment before agreeing. "It is a very simple plan, but fortunately I have oft found that simplicity makes things easier for lesser ... for everyone to follow. I suppose that you hope to use our dragon flames to set everything in the Amani pass alight?"

Everyone around the table nodded before Apollo gave the signal to go ahead. Aegwynn gestured to him that she would be helping maintain the portals for the ground troops and headed outside to let the Highlord of the Light have a last minute talk with his Queen.

Onyxia stood up after everyone had left before approaching Apollo and resting a hand on his right shoulder. As he turned, an inquisitive look on his face, she elaborated.

"I will be staying to help the elves fight, even though our forces will return home to protect the newborn. I will not be need back home to guard them, and I believe you would appreciate my help, my _dear_ consort."

Apollo was amazed by her revelation. He grabbed Onyxia and pulled her in a tight hug, deeply grateful for her help, before remembering his place and staggering back in slight nervousness.

Onyxia displayed momentary annoyance before dismissing him. Just as he was about to leave, however, she quipped a surprise with a malicious chuckle at the end.

"I expect you to fight by my side in dragonkin form, _Lord Consort. _Mayhap it will be that I will be the one on your back, instead?"

**.oOo.**

The Lady Sylvanas Windrunner was stressed. She had just received reports that the Farstriders near the Amani pass were under heavy attack while placing their traps – no doubt from a vanguard designed to protect the heavier assault units.

She knew Apollo was sending help; Jaina had told her so, but she was slightly sceptical about whether she would be receiving the help on time.

Just then, a ranger came in out of breath. "Milady! We have received word from the humans – they say they will be there in time to intercept the Scourge troops at the designated chokepoint."

That was good news. She knew she could count on her dear friend when necessary.

"There is more. We have begun opening the portals for Lord Apollo's troops, and ..."

_Why the stutter, now?_ "Yes?"

"Milady, the troops that have come through seem to be the main force of the assault."

This was disastrous news. Apollo had focused on bringing her all of the help she needed at Silvermoon, and had probably not left enough to obliterate the undead forces at Amani pass. Her Farstriders there would be killed.

"Also, Milady, Lord Apollo has reached."

Sylvanas was trying to keep her rage in check. Her close friends would suffer because of Apollo's idiocy, and she had to keep calm so as to not destroy the tentative peace that held the morale here. She was _furious._

Just as she reached the portal area, she saw Apollo and walked up to him. She began hissing at him in anger.

"Apollo! How could you be so absolutely _ignorant_ as to send only a light attack against the heavy scourge troops! My Farstriders will die! You idiotic, moron—"

She was interrupted by a veritable roar from a woman she had not noticed was accompanying him.

"Silence! You will not address my Consort by such demeaning terms, Elf. He has done more than you could possibly imagine!"

Apollo decided he liked Onyxia defending him. He spoke up, concluding there was no need for inner conflict now. "I would thank you not to insult my intelligence, Sylvanas. I sent the greatest part of my assault force to destroy Amani pass, don't worry."

That shut Sylvanas up right away. She did not understand who the woman who claimed Apollo was her consort was, but she decided to ignore it for the time being. Then, she hesitated. "But how? You cannot possibly be in command of such numbers... unless..."

"No, it isn't what you are thinking of, my dear. It's much simpler. During my time on Kalimdor, I was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of a strong race of fighters, headed by the Lady to my right, Queen Onyxia."

Sylvanas couldn't stop a strangled squawk from escaping through her vocal chords. Apollo had somehow managed to convince the Black Dragonflight to fight for him.

Apollo chuckled as he understood her expressions. "Yes, I see you're familiar with who and what she is."

After a while of silence to get herself under control, Sylvanas spoke up once more. "Well; this is quite unexpected. How many black dragons can we expect, so that I may tell the Farstriders to watch for?"

Onyxia smiled before answering. It was not a friendly smile. "Around sixty black dragons, Sylvanas. Don't worry; the vermin will not be able to get through into this beautiful land."

Sylvanas could have cried from relief. Everything would be alright.

"We do have some concerns, however. Arthas seems to be heading this way, going from town to town to pick up more and more elven undead. Even though he may not have started with a big strike force, it will be massive by the time it reaches us."

Sylvanas' head sank once more. "We know. We have heard, and the best we can do is set up traps and the like, avoiding direct confrontation with Arthas if we can help it, trying to destroy the undead bodies so there is nothing for him to resurrect. Purged by fire, indeed!"

Apollo sighed before motioning at both of them that it was time to meet up with the commanders and decide how best to set up their defences.

All three soon arrived at a tent filled with rangers and human commanders. It was here that Apollo made a startling discovery.

"Tirion! My good friend Tirion!"

"Apollo, it is good to see you still alive."

The short banter lasted until everyone was gathered in the room, whereupon Tirion Fordring introduced another help to Apollo.

"Apollo, I'd like you to meet someone special. He wields the Ashbringer."

Apollo's eyes turned cold at the new figure in the room.

"Alexandros Mograine. How ... nice ... to finally meet you."

"Likewise, Lord Commander. Lord Fordring speaks highly of you; I must say, your actions are indeed commendable."

Apollo decided to humour the man for now. "Yes, quite. Thank you for your support, Mograine."

Apollo stopped here, but decided it was better to get things out of the way before they could harm progress later on. "You know, this is such a happy occasion. I knew of a Mograine once; he was my mentor, Lord Basilan Mograine. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

Alexandros looked at Apollo incredulously. "Basilan, my brother? He is still alive? I was told by the Order nigh three decades back that he had died, his body irrecoverable."

It was Apollo's turn to feel disbelief. "You mean you have never investigated the claims?"

"Yes, of course I have. I sent my two sons on every scouting opportunity they had while training with the Order south in Stormwind, while I myself scoured the land looking for him. I never did find him. Tell me, Lord Commander, do you have news of him?"

Apollo turned and glared at Fordring and many of the others gathered around. Clearly, none had bothered to inform the man that his brother had passed away three years back.

He cleared his throat before going into a detailed explanation of how he came to know Basilan and ended with the information of his slowly growing town on Kalimdor. Mograine was given a moment to recover and recollect, before he spoke up again.

"I have two sons; the younger of the two, Darion, has decided he does not like being stuck in a single place and would prefer exploration. Renault, the other, has recently joined up with the new conservative sect of the Church, the Scarlet Crusade. Would you allow Darion to train with you, in the new world, so that he does not feel left behind? After we resolve this conflict, of course."

Apollo smiled. "It warms my heart to know that we have such stalwart supporters and believers in our cause, Alexandros. Of course, I'd be glad to squire your son."

The High Command tent that Sylvanas had set up was now full, everyone having taken their seat and looking expectantly at Apollo. He nodded an acknowledgement before taking his place at the side of Onyxia, with Sylvanas sitting at the high chair at the head of the table.

She started off the discussion. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have calculated that we simply cannot afford to let Arthas gain in strength and numbers as he approaches us. Even though he is moving quite quickly for someone on foot, he insists on stopping at nearly every town along the way. The land is becoming plagued everywhere he treads; soon, the whole area shall be defiled by his unholy nature."

One of her ranger commanders continued. "We have established that traps set up will become ineffective if the numbers grow beyond ten thousand soldiers. Yes, that is a huge number considering the light attack force he started with, which is why we have set up evacuations for every single town in Arthas' predicted path, ever since we learned what he was doing with the fourth one onwards."

A second ranger picked up. "We have begun skirmishes against his troops with what small forces we have, but we cannot deal with all of them at the same time." She paused as she brought out a map with key points already identified and marked. "If we keep the heavy combat troops at these positions in defensive manoeuvres and send the rest to reinforce Silvermoon City's walls, we could greatly absorb a lot of the predictable assault damage."

Sylvanas thanked her before getting to the gist of the talk. "Simply put, if we, that is to say my rangers and I, along with your help, keep bringing the fight to Arthas at the deserted towns along the way, he will have nowhere to replenish his forces or wait to rest. I promise you now, I will give him hell before he can even think of stepping near Eversong Woods."

The meeting now over, the commanders and general present all agreed to their tasks and the majority, especially the paladins and the infantrymen, left to bolster the city defences. Sylvanas now found herself with a few remaining powerhouses. Firstly, the High Priestesses Loraine and Alana, to deal with the medical aspect of this war; secondly, her ranger commanders serving under her, sworn to use their nature affinities and marksmanship to deal with any threat to the Kingdom; and lastly, the Highlord of the Light himself, Apollo 'Lightwielder', as he was no called, and his even more impressive consort, the Black Dragon Queen Onyxia, daughter of the Earthwarder.

Sylvanas turned to the remaining members of the tent before gesturing for them to gear up. It was time; Arthas was close to one of the first few towns they had managed to evacuate in time.

Once everyone was ready, she conjured the portal. "Good luck, soldiers, and may the Sunwell grant us victory."

"For the Light!"

She stepped through the portal first, amidst cheers of encouragement and zealous heroism.

**.oOo.**

The fight was progressing well. Apollo's troops, used to the guerrilla warfare fighting techniques, had been performing marvellously against the ravenous undead scourge; especially with support from the Rangers to snipe the enemy reaching too close to a seemingly abandoned infantryman.

Onyxia was greatly enjoying herself, especially since her consort was flying next to her, both of them unleashing devastating torrents of pure dragon flame, completely melting anything it touched.

That is, of course, until Arthas took notice of them and set up a moving gigantic anti-magic dome around his closest troops.

From then one, both were forced to assume their humanoid forms, Apollo fighting with the Holy Light in one hand and his trusty sword, Mograine's Legacy, in the other. The two made for a formidable fighting duet.

Every now and again one them would see a rotten ghoul get close to the other from the back before a blazing arrow would take them out, and they would stop to give the ranger a respectful nod before continuing.

What Apollo could never have predicted, however, was that he would see half of his own personal guard butchered by a moment's inattention and Arthas' frozen runeblade.

"NO! Belarion, Anya!"

Arthas looked up after having clean cut through the pair before giving him a challenging smirk. Apollo knew that he would not be able to resurrect them any longer. Having been personally slain by Arthas' runeblade, their souls were trapped inside Frostmourne forever.

Arthas, it seemed, had recognized him. "Frostmourne hungers, brother. And I feed it. It took care of me and supported me unlike you and your treachery!"

With that, Arthas turned away tauntingly, seemingly gliding away from him, at which point Apollo could not take it anymore and lashed out.

Bright and burning, white hot light began to emerge from him as his figure shimmered once, twice, and thrice before releasing a massive burst of Light energy outwards in an ever expanding dome shape.

Apollo had released his true form and his emotional pain had caused him to override the protection he himself had placed on his powers so as to not hurt those around him. As turned to look around him, all he could see was ash wherever the Light had encountered the Unholy, leaving shadowy imprints of the undead against the nearby walls. As the consequences of his actions came crushing down upon him, he turned to look for any of his own troops he may have hit with the Holy Nova, but thankfully saw that they instead seemed reinvigorated and revitalized by his outburst.

Assuring himself that he had not destroyed all of their chances at winning the war, Apollo took two steps towards his astounded Consort before promptly fainting and falling on the ground with a hard 'thud'.

* * *

**Well, this is it. The pairing that won was, of course, Harry(Apollo)/Sylvanas. I can't say it was much of a surprise, but there you have it.**

**I would like to mention the fact that though it may seem like it, this story will not feature proper polygamous (or polyandrous) relationships.**

**Anyways, I love receiving reviews, so if you would like me to update the story faster, please, go ahead and review it.**

**As usual, I welcome any comments or criticisms with open arms. Don't be shy.**

**Till next time.**


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